Rappeler
by MsArtemis
Summary: "She welcomed the beginning- the cold tendrils of darkness flowed around her body, meshing softly around her shape. The last piece sewed over her head-and then she was somewhere."
1. Preface

**~Rappler means 'Remember' in French. This is based on the movie _Inception_. It's been a huge effort so...I hope you like it :) Review, please!~**

Preface

_She welcomed the beginning- the cold tendrils of darkness flowed around her body, meshing softly around her shape. They were so gentle, feather light, the ice in them melting, melting, melting…then the last piece sewed over her head-and then she was-somewhere. _

"Excuse me."

Ariadne lifted her bowed head quickly, startled, into the eyes of a man. He wore a tan overcoat, brown slacks, and held a Blackberry to his ear. His pale greens glittered with barely contained malice at her slow response; catching on she nodded, stepping hurriedly to the right. The stranger nodded curtly, his cropped hair gleaming slightly in the bright over-head lighting, before hurrying past her. Staring after him she huffed distractedly, trying to recall her purpose here. The answer came to her quickly enough-she straightened up, brushing a piece of her dark, wavy hair behind her ear before assessing the situation.

She wove her way through the crowd easily, the distracted people hardly giving her a second glance as she made her way forward. Clasping her hands behind her back she appraised her handiwork, her carmel brown eyes warming as she took in the familiar landscape. The ceiling was held up by roman pillars; the arched roof curved from left, light pouring through the spaces in between. The white marble floor gleamed with dedication, her steps clicking across them with ease. To her left and right there were steps leading to other rooms-people ran up them like a multitude of ants, in such a hurry to reach their destination. At the moment, however, she was approaching the rows of unblemished, empty benches that lay in front of her. Picking the nearest one she let her fingers trace its arm, noting the familiar yet strange texture underneath her fingertips.

Earlier that year she'd been studying the architecture of the Grand Union Station in Chicago, Illinois, in the U.S. Rarely ever did they study anything outside of Europe but Ariadne had welcomed the change with open arms. Before her, sure enough, lay the Great Hall of Chi, just as it had appeared in pictures of the Union Station during the 1940s. Everything seemed perfect-but her fingers drifted to a stop on the bench arm as she noticed the one flaw. Unconsciously she had tinted everything with gold; there were golden flecks in the egg-shell marble and chestnut benches, and everything shown with a copper hue. Studying the golden grains beneath her fingers, her mind raced, her stomach sinking. She remembered this color; her eyes lit up briefly as she was assaulted with images. _Curtains, waving in the wind…glass, so carelessly crushed beneath her foot…__**golden**__ sheets, strewn on the floor in a fit of madness…_

Jerking her fingers away from the wood she stumbled backward, her mouth shutting open and closing like a fish. She hadn't placed that in the design she had drawn earlier today, and those were most not certainly her thoughts. That was a memory…not hers, but one that she recalled having witnessed what seemed like years ago…

Shutting her mouth she turned her back on the bench, striding in between the rows to where a small monument stood. The chunk of marble rose up from the ground, a little bit above her eye-level; a brand-new clock was displayed near the top of its surface. Tilting her head she studied the clock-its outer-rim was gold, just as planned. Reaching upward she touched the clocks frigid surface, convincing herself that all was well-all had been planned correctly. Closing her eyes briefly in relief she bowed her head, leaving her hand to trail down on the marble. As her hand began to pull away from the monument, it shivered beneath her hand. Jerking her head upward, eyes wild, she pressed her hand flat against the egg-shell stone to confirm what she had just felt. Her question was answered with a ferocious shaking-and suddenly everything was violently shivering, as if the whole place was caught in an earthquake. The floor heaved beneath her feet-she stumbled backward in response to the movement, her eyes shooting around. Where was it coming from? All the people walking around froze, looking around for the source as well with blank eyes. The shaking increased-the pillars that upheld the ceiling began breaking, sounding like gun-shots, dust spewing out of the cracks like blood. Ariadne stood frozen, her eyes huge as she gaped up at the golden clock above her. Amid the gale it shook none, rather, staying in place, eerily still. She could clearly see her face in its surface-shocked, frightened, and full of questions. _This wasn't as planned._ She stayed frozen as the crescendo increased from behind; as the roar of a charging train was added to the orchestra of disaster -and still all she could do was stare. The gleaming surface of the clock stayed motionless, her face the only thing she could see-and then there was someone else. Frightened indigo eyes, bare shoulders caressed with black coffee curls-and pink lips, opened wide and imploring. _"Help me-"_

The woman whispered, and then the pillars crumpled, everything folding in on its self sickingly. _"Help me!"_

The woman's plea echoed, falling in with Ariadne as the tendrils closed over her head once more.


	2. Part 1: Piano

**Part 1: Piano**

_The piano shimmered in the golden morning light. _

_The notes wavered up steadily from the pianos aged keys._

_A, B, C, D, F…._

_The piano gleamed. A, B, C…_

_Pink lips, open, forming words too soft too hear. _

"_What?" _

_A, B, C…_

"_Tell me!"_

_D, F, G…_

_He couldn't hear. He couldn't hear her._

_The piano's surface glinted, forming words too soft to hear…_

Cobb's eyes fluttered open, immediately taking in a huge breath of air. For a moment the world swirled before him, shapes and light and color taking on whole new forms through his blurry eyes. Blinking repeatedly he sat up, rubbing a hand over his weary face with a groan. As his body began to stir he became aware of the ache of his muscles, the nasty pulsing sensation in his head; the sure signs of a developing hangover. His memory was at a loss, however. Instinctively he called out, speaking his thoughts aloud: "Where the hell was I…" his croaky voice trailed off as his head made another 360 effect-suddenly he found himself face to face with the bedside clock. The glowing numbers matched some faint shade of red, yet, they were bright enough to make his eyes ache with a passion. As his eyes wandered away from the offending numbers he located three empty glasses-one of them was tipped over, amber liquid dripping off the night stand languidly onto the wooden flooring. Seeing the small accident seemed to kick his mind into alertness; he straightened, swinging his legs onto the floor and reluctantly reached his feet. Adjusting to the strong, definite, THERE, pound in his cranium he studied his surroundings. Behind him was a bed; his simple bed, devoid of anything but a few sheets mattress and one pillow. Beyond his bed was a square, wooden-framed window that displayed the surrounding suburbia. His own face shown back at him-his dark blonde hair glinted like lions fur, hardly ruffled despite his recent awakening. The eyes that peered back at him were a bright sapphire, the intelligence in them making them appear sharp. Dark stubble coated his jaw at length; another remnant of his late-night. The afternoon sun shone through the detailed reflection, golden light pouring into pools on the floor.

The color was key-his head tilted at the sight of it, his sluggish mind whirring.

"_What?" _His own voice echoed in his head with a conviction; it was substantial…he remembered this.

"_Tell me!" _

That's when he remembered why he had woken up.

Those lips…he knew them all too well.

Cobb left his room quietly, the door slam credited to shaking hands and a heavy head. The dripping glass slipped off the table, the shattering of it tinkling like withheld tears.

The main floor's peaceful bathroom was what he'd been aiming for; but he never made it. Half-way through the dining room he found himself cut off.

"Daddy!" The shriek was raised with high joy and anticipation-it made Cobb smile, for a half a moment, before he looked down to take in his son. "Good morning James." His voice was scratchy, sounding more like grit on pavement then the gentle greeting he'd expected to come out of him. James didn't notice however; and Cobb only held open his arms for his beloved son.

James paused only a moment-his blonde mane glowing and blue eyes starry-before leaping to accept his father's invitation. Cobb straightened up, the safe weight of his son in his arms. Hugging James, he shut his eyes, momentarily lost in the gratefulness that overwhelmed him.

It was two months after the Fisher job, two months since it was proven that inception was possible. Two blissful months with his children, finally _alone_ and his past behind him…well, mostly behind him. His body stiffened, his eyes snapped open at the thought. His dream was another definite reminder: he would never get over it. He never would be able to forget all of it.

"Daddy?" At the cry of his daughter, Philipa, he set James down in order to see her.

"Sweetie?" he called, his eyes rising from James' contented face into his little girl's. She had skipped right up to him in her pink dress, a toothy smile from ear to ear. Forcing himself to push his darker thoughts behind he focused on the current joy he felt, making effort in order for it to spill across his features. "How's my little girl?" he asked, crouching down so that he was at eye-level with her.

Unlike her brother, Philipa was smarter, more cunning. Peering into her copy-cat eyes his heart ached painfully-for her eyes were as clear and sharp as blazing ice, just as her mother's had been. "Daddy, are you okay?" He had expected the question-Philipa was just like her mother had been; straight to the point, and caring, most of all…

"Of course, Phil!" His voice was bordering on overly cheery but she bought it, the crispness in her eyes dulling away into soft trust. He ruffled her white-blonde locks lovingly, enjoying the little giggle that it brought out of her.

"Sweh were plannings on shopping, today, Dom." The French accent tugged the heavenly moment back to earth; Cobb got to his feet, his children both watching wide-eyed as he grew before them. Behind the two golden-haired children was their grandmother; Grandmamere is what they called her. She was a refined woman who lived by her own rules and was stubborn to the bone. At the moment her hair was tugged up into an intricate bun that pooled the silvers and russets into a strong, butterfly-shaped clasp, her light sundress fitting for the summer season. She carried a dish cloth in her long, elegant fingers, the silver of her wedding ring making itself known in the bright sunlight emanating from the dining room window behind them.

Straightening up he cleared his throat slightly; he hadn't seen Grandmamere in years as well. She had taken care of the children when he was away; and she still blamed him for her daughter's death. That as it was, he had no idea how to approach her-for they were both strangers now.

Grandmamere's hazel eyes peered back at him with hardly concealed disgust at his existence, and once again he had the urge to explain himself, though none was really needed. She knew enough to form judgments of him and no doubtedly wouldn't stand to hear any excuses.

"Zur daughta iz in need of zome new shoes. And Zames! Hiz rough-huzing hez made hiz pants ze mess!"

Cobb nodded softly, his head swimming; Grandmamere watched him, lightning passing behind her eyes as she waited for his response. It was too long a pause, but he noticed little, focusing only on speaking to her. "Of course, that makes sense," he agreed. At his answer her hazel eyes calmed, the sting in them lessening minimally. Glancing down at his children, his eyes sapphire velvet, he let the honey pour: "Is that what you wanna do kids? Go shop with Grandma?"

To his relief they nodded vigorously, the action creating the effect broken bobble-heads often make.

"Comez along children." Grandmamere cooed, her reserved soft-side aimed only for the two little ones. Her slim, colorless fingers landed on their shoulders, turning them away from their father into the direction of the kitchen, where the door to the outside lay.

"Bye Daddy!" They called, their voices unified to the exact pitch. He smiled wide at their retreating figures, waving despite the fact they could not see his attempts at saying goodbye.

He stood like that, smiling, until he heard Grandmamere call out: "Zwe will be backz lata. Around five." His smile and hand dropped as he heard the audible click of the door, signaling his family's exit.

But Cobb was finally alone. Slumping into the dining room chair nearest to him he placed his head in his hands, letting out a long sigh. His heart ached at the action, physically throbbing with emotion. He couldn't shake off the dream… and he couldn't seem to please anyone but his children. This wasn't what he'd wanted…it was at that moment, that the house phone rang.

Cobb's head snapped up, the shrillness of the telephone ring still deafening in the house's vacancy. Another ring from the kitchen-Cobb remained frozen, his mind stirring awake as they ran through the possibilities. Reaching his feet steadily, he began walking toward the kitchen.

_Rinnng._

The only one who could be calling was Miles, professor of Architecture in Paris, grandfather to his children and husband to Grandmamere. His footsteps were quickening; through the arched living room, past the piano (though he could swear he could hear a faint melody *ABCD* as he passed).

_Rinnng._

Maybe it was old Mr. Nevels, their neighbor, politely requesting for the kids to stop playing in his backyard. Down the tiny green hallway at last; the familiar family portraits grinned down at him balefully and he hurried through faster. (When he was away he had built the hallway out of memory, out of love. Now the real hallway seemed too twisted, too real. It was painful, knowing that he preferred the imaginary. He didn't tend to think about it often.)

_Rinnng._

He burst into the kitchen; there was the table, the back porch, the bar…. And right against the wall, on the bar, was the phone in its cradle. As if he didn't know that someone was trying to reach him, the red light blinked rapidly, and the terrible noise screeched again.

_Rinnng._

One, two, three steps…his stomach dropped. For whom else could it be?

_Pink lips, forming words too soft too hear…_

It would not be her. He shook his head, his world suddenly tilting on the edges.

Reaching over he grasped the edge of the bar, leaning over slightly as if he was about to be sick. His stomach plunged, his hands filming over with a cold sweat, his breath tight in his chest.

"What…" he whispered, gazing at the rapidly blinking red light, "What..is it?"

_Rinnng._

_He couldn't hear. He couldn't hear her._

The delusions didn't bother him. Rarely did they…they had happened so often before that their return, after so many weeks, seemed completely irrelevant. And the fact that he couldn't seem to stop thinking of her; that nothing, no amount of alcohol, or noise, or spending time with his children, would ever change that. _She_ was always there.

At least in his mind.

The phone's last ring bounced around in his skull, slicing through the little calm he possessed. His gaze iced over as he stared at the phone, his harsh breathing brought to a halt by his hushed fury.

"Tell me, Mal."

His demand floated on the air for less than half a second before the answering machine cut it off.

_Beeeeep._

_Cobb-this is Arthur. Ariadne's hurt…something's happening. We need you._

The message cut off abruptly, Arthur's stiff, tight voice ending as quickly as it had begun.

Cobb stared at the phone blankly, letting the shock echo and course through his body.

The past had come back to haunt him; and this time, it wasn't a dream.

Faintly he swore he could hear the cursed notes begin once again, wafting from the living area.

_A, B, C, D…_


	3. Part 2: Concealing Arthur's POV

**Part 2: Concealing **

The pink of her eyelids fluttered faintly- he almost wanted to grab her, shake her awake, but that was illogical and not needed. Only the small breaths, the smallest twitches of her fingers, kept him hoping she would wake up soon.

Sitting as still as possible Arthur unclasped his hands, which had been knotting for hours. His aura of business, of cool and calm, was no more; at hand was a man who was worrying. Letting out a sigh he leaned back farther in the seat he occupied, pulling it closer to the bedside unconsciously. Hours ago his phone had rung.

At the moment he had been enjoying a late lunch at the outdoor café nearest to his Paris apartment. He had been eating salad, noticing the things around him.

How the tiny woman in pink across from him had bought the dress very recently (it probably was her favorite color), how the man who had served him his food was in a thorough argument with a ravishing Latino woman ( a quarrel about a 1989 hybrid that they had shared quite some time ago was in need of repair and she needed the money…he didn't buy her story), or the fact that he was frustratingly alone.

It's not like he wasn't sociable…he just hadn't found anyone who was fit to meet his intelligence. That had sounded pretentious, even to him, but talking with anyone who could understand his hunger for the little things in life was almost physically impossible. Of course, he never expressed his doubts, and always kept his mind 'wide open' for new possibilities. He was reflecting on this very subject when his phone had buzzed.

Having his nerves trained in the art of silence was a blessing-though the sudden sound did startle him it was more logical to stay still, to press the heart to not skip, to force every muscle to move seamlessly despite the small scare. He'd been leaning back in his chair but he quickly came back to earth with a rush of air and the thump of feet. It was the number that flashed across the screen that warned him-that warned him this was something awful. It was Ariadne's.

It had been two or so months since the Inception job. This is all Arthur had ever done, most of his life, was be a Point-Man. There was nothing left to do, no job left to find…and he felt he had to rush back to Paris.

_He'd grabbed her shoulder-her red lip-stick lips had parted in evident surprise, but she'd calmly turned around, closing her mouth with a sassy smack that amused him. She always attempted to remain cool; to remain calm…just like him. _

"_Where are you heading to?" He'd asked politely, dropping his hand dully, like a man who'd been stunned. Her face did that to him-it threw him off balance, made his reaction times slower-it didn't bother him. Rather, it made her a contradiction. And he enjoyed contradictions. Her caramel eyes had brightened at the question, and she smiled coyly up at him. "Where I came from. Paris." She smiled brightly after the answer, causing him to grin back in return. _

Her answer had been simple and direct enough; yet it had this bitter metallic taste that, to him, can only be described as disappointment. It was enough of an answer that after she had walked away, he knew where to go. Recalling their last meeting made him yearn to never pick up the phone; what if she had discovered his living in the same city as her? Granted, Paris was a huge city, but he could have lived anywhere else, _anywhere_. Reaching forward he pressed the answer button, jamming it next to his ear so fast it annoyed him. It wasn't logical to answer that fast, she was only a former co-worker.

"Hello?"

What he heard next threw everything kilter.

"_Hey- Arthur-" _ The gasping is what had alerted him. The sudden tightness in her voice, the clear strain as she breathed in-he could practically see her gritting her teeth. Suddenly everything was bright, every detail thrown into painful relief as he tensed.

_The Latino woman had walked away ranting, the woman with the pink dress was writing a check with her left hand, the letters curliquing out a number…_

"Ariadne? What's wrong?" His voice may have come out cool and reasonable-but nothing was reasonable at all. He glanced up at the umbrella over his head (its color was one of the 24 shades of moss) and there were three phone numbers written on its rimmed surface (the area codes all leading to somewhere in the city) , and his head was pounding three beats per second; or was that his heart?

It was dizzying as he heard her quick gasps over the line, the slight moan that she allowed to escape-

"Ariadne where-"

He was standing now, in emergency mode, the world seeming to bend around to fit his will. New details emerged as he peered past the umbrella, as he noted the street name, number, and the time the bus would pull up to the curb…

"_I've been shot."_ She breathed, the words bursting through the other end with an explosive force. _"I don't know how, I just woke up…"_ her voice was trailing off, the panic in each word seeping into Arthur's core.

It wasn't helpful-he could feel it building up in his chest, a crushing and imminent pressure that screamed "Emergency". His mind was practically bursting at the seams, ideas and plans unfolding with each millisecond that passed-and yet, he couldn't pick one because this was all going too fast.

"WHE-"

"_My apartment."_ The answer was barely out, merely a hiss into the receiver; before the connection cut off completely. Arthur didn't pause, didn't wait for the resounding, final click of the connection to quit hitting the insides of his skull; he reacted instantaneously. Jamming the phone into his pants pocket he threw a handful of cash onto the café table (3 fives…two ones, would help the waiter pay off the damages to that '89 Hybrid) before assessing the street. Right next to the outdoor seating of the café was a street-across from the street was a busy sidewalk next to a series of shops. With one more calculated scan of the area he picked up on three, sure things. One, that the afternoon traffic was stifling, allowing him a perfect amount of time to find a vehicle. Two, in the third line, at the end, was an recently rebuilt, 1974 Laverda SF2 gleaming in the high sun. Three, the light would turn green in about less than 30 seconds, if his math was correct. With an inward sigh he ran over what he was about to do-so far so good. And then he plunged into the sea of traffic. Winding his way through the maze of cars and vehicles he began running. Weaving in and out, past taxi-drivers and various bikers and buses, he counted down the seconds. (15,16…) The piercing honk was aimed at him, he knew, but he kept on running, intent on his purpose. A woman leaned out her window, ranting at him in French, her chanel #59 smothering him as he ran past the window. (10, 9…) He slid across the hood of an orange taxi without any thought-for what was there to lose but caramel eyes and sassy smiles?-ignoring the drivers vain attempts to swear at him as he fell off the hood and stumbled into row three. There she was-the motorcycle gleamed, quivering beneath its owner like an anxious panther. Arthur approached calmly, quieting his breathing in order to appear reassuring. "Good aftertoon, Monsier!" He called out-the driver turned his head to face Arthur, his surprise at the unexpected greeting hidden underneath his tinted helmet. Arthur got within three feet of him, his lips tightening suddenly as his fingers curled- (4, 3..) The man, had he noticed Arthur's rapid change of expression, might have been alarmed. But as it was, he thought Arthur was harmless. And that's when Arthur punched him in the neck. The rider gasped in pain, his grip loosening on the handle bars- and with a shove Arthur knocked him off and onto the pavement. _One._ The light flickered green, just as predicted. Throwing one leg around the black monstrosity Arthur straddled it, pushing off and following the other cars in front of him as the rider recovered. Arthur raced off, the former owner's crumpled figure a convenient distraction for the drivers Arthur left in his wake. Ariadne hadn't needed to tell Arthur her address-as soon as she'd entered Paris, he'd made it his business to know…and it wasn't long before he was at her door, pounding on the white oak mercilessly. To his surprise and horror it swung open underneath his furious movements easily, silence the only thing that greeted him. His stomach took a suicide dive as he moved into the room, swinging the door shut behind him. He noted the fine wooden flooring, glossed to perfection. The arched ceilings, elegant furniture, and assorted architectural paintings screamed her name all too well…but what really got his attention was the door on the other side of the room, left wide open. He pushed past everything, running into the room without hesitation. Unlike the rest of the interior of the rest of the apartment it was frighteningly bare, save for the plain white bed that lay in its center. And, upon that bed, was Ariadne. The only thing he could was aware of, at this point, at the point where his stomach plunged and his breath caught-was the red. Like he had noticed, the room was full of whites and pale grays, little else. Even her clothing, (a white button-up blouse and tan jeans) were still shades and shades away from the shockingly bright crimson that pooled across her stomach, seeped onto the bedspread in rivulets… As if to emphasize the alarming color her pale hands lay in it, limp though they were, attempting to cover the wound. Somehow, just standing there, his eyes found her face. It lay upon the pillows, her head tossed to the side as if it was too heavy to hold upright. Careless waves of brown framed the oval shape- the darker color bringing out the little pink her cheeks had left in them. Her eyes were shut, the purple eyelids still. Her lips were even open a little bit-and for one, long, long moment, he couldn't help but wonder if this Snow White was meant to sleep forever. And it hurt, surprisingly so. Desperate he reached into his pocket, pulling out a square object. Coming to his knees he unfurled his hand, tossing the object across the floor…it skittered to a halt by her bedside, the loaded die's numbers staring up at him mockingly. With something on the edge of despair he reached her bedside, picked it up, put it back in his pocket, and knelt. He wasn't dreaming. The bedspread was white, the blood was red, and she was too pale too be alive. And all he could think of was how he hated the facts. Hated every little detail that made this a reality… And then, without warning, she breathed.


	4. Part 2: Concealing Ariadne's POV

**~ Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews I've gotten, it's been wonderful! Bear with me, this chapter is a little sluggish but it's building up to the mystery. Each part I add has a title (example: Part 1: Piano) Each one word title has a meaning that is relevant to the piece. Some may be more cryptic than others, at times. If you know why Part 2: Concealing is called concealing, than awesome :D Good for you. If you don't, just send me a message or something and I'll be quick to respond. Also, next part will hopefully be in Eame's POV-wish me luck! Love all of you who read.-MsArtemis~**

There were no warm tendrils this time around, no wrap-around assurance that she was waking up. All there was a long darkness in which various noises echoed and then, finally, clarity.

Ariadne's eyes finally fluttered open, her breath hitching in her throat as everything within her vision cleared. For a few moments she stared uncomprehendingly at a blank expanse of whiteness-her eyes traced the arches and cracks several times-before she realized it was a ceiling-her bedroom ceiling. It was immediately recognizable-and without moving a muscle she studied the rest of the room in silence. She was on the bed-(she could feel the sheets beneath her) and the rest of the room was bare, the walls a baleful yet matching white. Sliding her eyes over to the right she saw the dark cherry-wood door open a crack, sunlight pouring out unto floorboards beneath her bed. Having finished her assessment, she came to an absolute solution: _This was her room, she was safe_, and with that, she began to move. The first thing she became aware of was that the slightest twitch of her muscles seemed deadened- as if she had slept for a long time under the influence of some drug. She fought past her weighted limbs, her curiosity peaking, stinging across her skin. It was a little bit of a struggle, but eventually her head was up, and she was able to look down on herself. Carmel-brown eyes widened, the dark lashes framing the lilac eyelids. Her lips popped open as she gaped down at her shirt…covered in blood. Vermillion brushed on the white blouse, which had once been so crisp and fresh, now looked as if it had been through a war zone; desperate for answers her hands flew down to the red, her fingertips kissing the stained fabric with barely contained horror. It was such a powerful color-it caused her chest to heave, her heart to race in pure panic. Snatching her fingers away from the awful sight she pulled her hands up to her neck, letting them rest against either side, her fingers tracing the place where her pulse thundered away. And the panic, the pure fear, lit up her memories like a match set to a house of cards. With the inferno set, and with the ironic scent of paper aflame, she evoked the memories of the events before she had awoken.

_She'd been dreaming, put to sleep with a strong sedative off the black market._

_She'd been at the train station she had built; but the gold was wrong. _

_Everything had crumbled because of…something?_ She didn't have time to remember what.

_Then she woke up…a man, gun aimed at her. _ _She could see his mouth moving, speaking, her mouth gasping out a response-_

_A frightening sound, and then someone somewhere was screaming, crying as he ran out the room…_

_Breathing, in-out, flipping open her phone;_

_Under 'A' Arthur,_

"_I've been shot…at my apartment." _

_Click._ _Breathing, in-out._

_Then darkness._

The images flashed before her eyes, the emotion in them thicker than any charcoal upon canvas-they were real. She had been dreaming, and she had been shot. And she had called Arthur. The thought of him made her calm-she allowed herself to relax, (for she shouldn't move much with this injury) laying her head back on the pillows, her gaze facing the ceiling once more. Arthur had been a co-worker on the Inception job-she remembered him well. He was an intellectual, one of the best she'd ever met. He had taught her just about everything she needed to know about dreaming. His name dredged up several snap-shots of him, the things she liked about him best. Dark eyes, dark hair, sharp features…calm, thought out retorts, a taste for the good in life, and a bit of patience sprinkled in. "_Quick, give me a kiss."_ The words were recalled with a slap, as if they'd been in wait to surprise her. She remembered kissing him in the second level of the Inception job, the smoldering look he'd covered up with ice so quickly she wasn't even sure it was possible. "_They're still looking."_ She'd said, honest worry filling up her voice. She'd thought this would work. He merely shrugged. _"Worth a shot."_ It made her strangely dizzy to think of him in that way, at this moment, and it bothered her. Shifting uncomfortably at the direction her thoughts had taken she cautiously followed them, keeping her gaze locked on the cracks and arches of her bedroom ceiling. He was a co-worker she hardly knew anything about, let alone trusted. True, she had been in close contact with him for about a month for several hours a day, creating things, checking details under Cobb's watchful eye… They both took their jobs seriously, each one playing professional 24/7. Except for the rare times she slipped up, in which she had nothing to do but waddle through her embarrassment as coolly as possible.

"_There should be an alternate exit." _ _Arthur's slim fingers pointed out the only exit on the far side of the building, something she had only seconds before prided herself upon. Heat rushed to her face at this comment-she'd stayed up all night the before and it was just like her to make such an error that was so easy for him to identify. But rather than succumbing to the self-wallowing she'd favored when she was a child, her feelings quickly took a turn towards annoyance. "Why do you say that?" She asked tightly, straightening from where she'd been bent over the 3D model of Level 3, placing her hands on her delicate hips. Arthur, who was currently bent over the model, running his eyes over it again, looked up, his gaze catching hers. He had the nerve to smirk at her, his white grin reaching his chocolate brown eyes with a twinkle. This only pushed her into the realm of further irritation; her cheeks flushed further and she raised both of her eyebrows high in order to regain the composure of one who was annoyed. Logically, she was annoyed more at herself, but she'd never been really one to follow the rules; she tended to bend them to her will. At her expression his grin visibly fell and he straightened, hands stuffed in the dark slacks he wore. _ _There was one light that hung perilously over the model, and it illuminated his rather lank figure. His crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled up past the elbow, the top button undone in an attempt to be casual. He wore a tan vest (both buttons buttoned) and a scarlet tie that dipped down into the vest. The colors seemed to make him more shadowy-his slicked back hair appeared midnight black, and his eyes, the ones looking down on her from across the model, seemed to be too deep and ebony for words. Her breathing constricted slightly within her chest, looking up at this dark, mysterious figure; she crossed her arms self-consciously, refusing to break her gaze with him. _ _At her lack of a response he cleared his throat, his voice coming out soft. "A safety precaution of course. We wouldn't want to find ourselves trapped." Ariadne only seemed capable of gaping up at him-was it just her, or was the air charged? He continued to stare down on her, hands in his pockets, a statue of casualness and all things composed; she couldn't breathe-it was getting too much for her. Looking down she blinked a few times-she heard him shift his weight to another foot awkwardly; it did not ease her exasperation , but only make her more cross, for she had surely embarrassed herself further. Without warning she swooped up the model, her fingers gripping the edges tighter than necessary as she turned her back on him and walked over to her desk. Placing it gently on all the papers she breathed in deeply, trying to clear her mind-and then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tightened, and she froze-so, so smoothly he turned her around so that their eyes could meet once again. _ "_You're a great architect, Ariadne. I'm sure another exit will prove not too difficult for you." His chocolate eyes were filled with branded sincerity as he peered down on her-she couldn't answer, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Two seconds passed before he dropped his hand, turned around, and began heading for the ware-house exit. She did not move as he finally reached the door, as he paused before gripping the handle. Turning back to look at her he smiled tenderly before calling out: "Goodnight, Ariadne." _ _She merely nodded-he accepted this graciously, heading out the door with hardly a sound. As the door swung shut he could vaguely hear her response: _ "_Goodnight, Arthur."_

Though sometimes the embarrassment was clearly palpable-she wrinkled her nose in distaste of the past humiliation for a brief moment; and it was only then, on looking back on past embarrassments, that she remembered the call she had made hours earlier. As if to side with the direction her thoughts were taking, her stomach seemed to contract, tightening around the wound with an awful twinge-she bit her lip, slamming her eyes shut as she held back a moan. The call had been stupid, yes. Her eyes snapped open as she regained control-but was important right now were three things. How was she alive. How did she brush with death in the first place- And did Arthur do anything about her call. The last one was the one that haunted her most-her wide eyes stared at the ceiling, pain rippling through them in a flash at the notions that presented themselves. If he were to forget about the call or, worse, assume it was a prank, she'd be forever humiliated and would never see him in the same light… Negativity never was her cup of tea-and so she put her moody thoughts energy into her legs. It was a struggle but she eventually sat up somewhat, (it hurt white-hot but she only hissed slightly) and swung her feet onto the floor. Lurching upward like a renewed Frankenstein she hobbled to the open crack of a door, her bloody blouse immediately loosening and falling out around her figure as she stumbled. The light that splayed away from the crack in the door was a siren call to her curiosity-a sure route to answers that she couldn't possibly ignore. Gripping the door frame with white knuckles she pulled herself up straighter, leaning against it as she pulled it open with her other hand to see what lay beyond. The living room expanded before her-the walls were white, much like her bedrooms, except…the walls had a voice, a life. Hundreds of architectural drawings and abstract paintings artfully decorated the wide space that ended at the far right, where the wall led to a sliding glass door that had a view. Beyond the living room she could see her rounded kitchen, which was adjoined to the living room. And in the midst of her kitchen, at her sink, scrubbing dishes: was Arthur. The light cutting through the glass of the sliding door lent illumination to the kitchen, creeping across the black marble until it touched Arthur's dark figure with tentative fingers. His white button-up glowed, highlighting the rolled up sleeves that lay above his elbows. His slacks were dark, which was usual. His hair was slicked back like normal as well, the unusual ebony sliding seamlessly against his pale skin. What wasn't usual was that he wasn't wearing a vest or tie…not that she would care. If he knew she was there, he didn't acknowledge her presence-rather; he continued to work tirelessly, up to his elbows in bubbles. Dizzy from her walk to the door she leant her head on the door-frame, staring at him, completely stunned by this sight. Frankly, he looked like he had hardly changed since the Fisher job-as if the whole thing hadn't bothered him in the slightest. The thought stung her like some furious bee-so she was the only one who's dreams (when she had them, which was rarely) were nightmares of being stuck in Limbo like Cobb? That she only could get to bed at 3 in the morning when she had to get up at 5? How she'd drawn more than she'd ever drawn in her entire life these 2 months after the Fisher job. She'd stay up 24 hours on Saturdays, sketching and painting buildings that made her hands grew numb… She'd never stopped wanting , not once. The clatter of china and porcelain whisked her attention away and back to what lay before her. Displacing her weight onto one leg she made two, snap decisions that she swore she would keep.

One, she would not show how much the first Inception job had affected her. And two, she would not show the slightest of hint of anything to Arthur; she would be calm and businesslike around him at all times so as to save them both from humiliation and shame. Taking these quick promises into her heart she locked them up tight, silencing them into secrecy. And with these two ever-heavy promises on her mind she called out:

"Arthur?"


	5. Part 3: Away

**~I do not own Inception-but dear God, I love Eames-so much fun to write as. He's amazing. Now I have a plot for all this and this is going somewhere people. Once we get the team together it'll get kickin'. This is going to be a longish story of sorts so if you like? Keep reading and know I'll pull through, please. Thank you for the reviews! I love them! –MsArtemis~**

**Part 3: Away**

The 'Mexican hat dance' ringtone electronically snaps the smothering, Musamba afternoon in half. It was a default the owner had never chosen, but silently he enjoyed how it annoyed just about everyone within its presence. Coyly locking gazes with his opponent across the table, he lazily reached for the silver flip-phone. "Business." He explained, the grin and twinkle in his eyes after the statement suggesting nothing of the kind.

"Ah-I was expecting your call, darling. Miss me already?"

"No, Eames."

As Arthur's voice crackled over the unsteady connection Eames grinned, breaking gazes with the irritated player across from him as he kicked back in his chair.

"So for dating advice, then? Because we both know-"

"I'm not in the mood for your games now." Arthur hissed, his voice shooting straight over the line like a spear. Eame's smile faltered-the crowd around the table eyed him warily, some whispering urgently as they discussed their bets.

"Oh, come now-"

"Ariadne's been shot, Eames." The dead- weight of the words jerked Eames mouth into a grimace, made him sit up straight.

"She called me, I came to her apartment-I got the bullet out, but-"There was a shaky breath over the line, each inch of it heart-wrenching. The voice started up again, steadier, the words strong.

"I think she was onto something, Eames. I really think she was. I don't know what yet-but you know how she is. Curious, can't stop herself from exploring." There was a long pause during which Eames made several hand motions to the people surrounding him, indicating that only a few minutes alone would end the phone call. The crowd, cursing under their breath, dispersed for a brief intermission.

"It was…a close-call." Arthur resigned, regaining hold over his shock.

"I would certainly say. But more to the point-why did you call me Arthur?" Eames smirked, stood up, and walked away from the poker table, hand on his hip as he concentrated on the phone call. "As much as I care for our little architect friend, and yourself of course, I have a place here, in Africa-"

"I'm not saying you don't," Arthur reassured, "but I was bound to call you anyway. We have a job. "

"Really? From who?"

"An anonymous corporation-and what they're requesting…it's not anything I've ever heard of."

"Hit me."

"It's a big job, Eames. I can't do it alone."

The indirect answer didn't go past Eames notice; he expected Arthur, being his paranoid self, would want to exchange the details of the latest job in person rather than over the phone, where anyone could be listening. Placing an overdramatic scoff before his sentence, Eames spoke.

"And you're expecting little old me to drag my ass back up to California-"

"Paris."

Eames mentally rolled his eyes at Arthur's prim correction, eyeing himself in the reflexive metal of a nearby sundial. His moss-colored eyes were alight with the glory of teasing his old colleague, his tawny hair glinting in the noon-day sun.

"Oh don't be such a stick in the mud, Arthur. All the way up to, 'Paris' then, for this little operation of yours, with nothing in it but your pure good word to rely on?"

A huff of exasperation made itself known-it crackled over the connection, the noise not too far away from the pain caused by nails on a chalkboard.

" Eames, I swear to God that you are the most arrogant-"

Arthur's irritation was all Eames needed to hear-he had already decided the second a job was mentioned he was on board. And, despite the way Eames himself acted, he did care about Ariadne. She was right fun and quite amusing at times-all in all a good girl that he liked to have around. Plus, he was the only one that seemed to notice the way she put Arthur in invisible knots-which was a great show in itself.

"On my way, darling."

Arthur went silent on the other end, his words cut off by Eames cheery response.

"You're coming?"

Eames merely grinned, removing his eyes from the bronze sun-dials reflexive surface.

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Already Eames was making his way back to the table that sat in the dusty square, the poker chips covered in sand and grime.

"Be in Paris by tomorrow morning."

There were several fervent tongue clickings before: "So demanding, are we?"

"Goodbye, Eames."

Eames' wry smile ended with the conversation; he easily snapped the phone shut, slipping it into his pants pocket. Now at the table he spared a tight-lipped smile for the man who sat at it, the man being his current poker adversary.

"I must leave you. So sorry for the inconvenience." Eames told the dark-skinned man, recalling that the man understood little English. The stranger's suspicious gaze fell when a wad of cash landed upon the chipping paint and poker chips of the table. Without another word, Eames turned his back on the man, beginning to slip into the crowd, when rather suddenly, the man yelled after him.

"Wher' sheh goin' sa'?" Hands in his pockets, Eames casually looked over his shoulder.

"Away."

The crowd hardly noticed as he slipped out, heading for the nearest alley across the street to make a phone call. It would take some doing, but Eames was ready for it to begin again. To play the Forger as he knew best-and to get back with the old team again, of course.

Luxuriating in the breezy shadows that surrounded him he dialed, holding the phone to his ear as he scanned the alley to make sure he was alone.

"Now, Lila-have I ever told you how beautiful you are? No? What do I want? If you must know, a first-class jet that can get me to Paris by tomorrow morning…"


	6. Part 4: Markings

**Part 4: Markings**

_It was the yellow that caught Mal's eye. _

_She sat up quickly, wavy hair brushing his cheek as her delicious scent washed ran over him._

"_Dom-" her voice, so soft. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her. She wanted him to look at something. _

_There was a bird-it's feathers were the color of enlightened daisies, or rays of sunlight on steroids; it stung his eyes. _

_Extending its wings it leapt off its perch, rising into the air gracefully. Against the sky blue it was jaw-dropping, climbing higher and higher. He was marveling at it, as the wind tugged its pinfeathers…that are when he noticed it was looking at him. His stomach sunk as he forcefully locked gazes with the bird. That's when things began to crumble._

_The sky-like some over-use, watery paint-bunched swirled and bunched together fluidly, revealing a blank grey back-drop. The blue unfolded itself, dripping in streaks down the grey background-and yet the bird was still floating, still refusing to break eye-contact as its demise neared. _

"_Dom…" she sighed, but he couldn't look at her-he couldn't look away from that bird. The bird's feathers, before his very eyes, began to degenerate from the bottom up. The feather-tips brushed into lemon lily petals that erratically flew away…_

_The black eyes stayed on him as they disappeared-it were then that he heard a familiar scream._

"_Wake me up! WakemeupwakemeupwakemeUP-" _

_It was cut off with a tremendous scream-and besides he couldn't look away from the spot the bird had vanished…He needed to help that person, this __**had**__ happened before-but he was left alone, surrounded by grey. _

_The words stung his throat, desperation and pain turning them red. _

"_NO MAL!" _

The sky spent a great deal of energy dosing the surroundings outside the sedan windows pale silver. Rain slid down the panes, the big, fat drops lazy in their descent. Cobb peered out the windshield, his heart heavy and low within his chest. It had been only a day since Arthur had called him, his voice not unlike white knuckles on Cobb's message machine. He was worried about Ariadne, naturally-he had never meant for her to be hurt-though his own ambition to get home during the Inception job had slightly clouded his judgment in that area…

Looking back on the millions of ways he'd put the young woman's life on edge caused shame to well up in him-he should protect her most, out of all of the Inception team. Shivering slightly he recalled her scream, reverberating through his earlier nightmare.

"_Wake me up! WakemeupwakemeupwakemeUP-" _

Turning left at the light he reflected on the previous dream. He had not been drunk, or under any sedative-but the dream was a sure haunting form of a memory. A memory from a balmy July years ago…when he and Mal had lunched on a red and white checkered blanket before reclining under in the shade of a tree… How Ariadne had ever come into it was a confusing subject.

The softness in her eyes, the desperation-the pure determination. _"You need to tell the others, what I just saw."_ Her words had been sharp, blazing ice, although her eyes were the color of warm caramel… Suddenly everything about her was worth remembering-because for some reason he'd been trying to forget her…

_Her eyelashes fluttering when she was confused (rarely), the light flashing up behind her irises when she figured something out, her quick, silent knowing smiles that let him know that she understood everything all too well…_

Remembering all these things caused him to beam-for he felt calmer thinking about her. As if he could just be with her, everything would be fine. It wasn't until he almost rammed into the back of a minivan, the jerking stop saving him and the van's occupants from peril that his stomach twisted. The thoughts were tainted with danger-with this sense of pure wrong he couldn't seem to place. Bowing his head he ran an unsteady hand over his hair.

"Jesus…" he whispered-and then the light was green.

Minutes later, Cobb found himself in front of Apartment Number 5. It wasn't normal that his palms were itching to burst in, to check on her-Arthur would call him if drastic developments had taken place…this thought was not comfortable. Straightening in his navy blue polo and jeans he rapped twice on the door, calling out: "Arthur?"

The silence inside the apartment was heavy-not a noise rustled behind the still wood for one prolonged moment-and then there was the undeniable sound of the knob turning. The door swung open a crack-Arthur peered out of it for a moment, checking to see who the visitor was. Cobb nodded at the dark eyes that peered out at him.

"Arthur." He acknowledged-then eyes disappeared, and with a click the door swung all the way open-and Cobb's closest co-worker and famous Point man was in front of him.

Arthur's face was strained for a moment, the muscles stretched all wrong-but before Cobb could comment Arthur's face cleared completely, returning to its usual blank expression.

"Cobb."

"You called?" Cobb stuffed his hands in his pocket-when all of a sudden a faint voice could be heard.

"Cobb?" Her voice was scratchy, but it was completely recognizable-Ariadne. Eyeing Arthur Cobb took her call as his chance to step in silently. Arthur moved around him as he walked into the living room, the apartment door shutting and locking behind his back. The apartment was extremely spacious-to the left was a rounded kitchen that opened to the living room in which they now stood. Sun poured through a sliding glass door and across the Maplewood floor, highlighting the velvet maroon couch, white shag rug, and table. The table in the center of the room was hardly recognizable-drawings covered it in stacks, charcoal and paint smearing into other portraits, distorting the images. Beyond the table was a doorway-and in the doorway was the Architect. She leaned against it for support, her arms crossed tightly across a ripped and bloodied white blouse. Her tan jeans contained streaks as well, her feet bare upon the wooden floor. Her head lay against the cherry wood of the doorframe, the light waves of her hair clashing against it tremendously. Her wan face was full of weary lines, yet her eyes soft as she gazed at him. She grinned wearily-he couldn't seem to smile back-as she said: "Hey, Cobb. Long time no see."

The amount of blood on her clothes was frightening-he blinked quickly, trying to remain in control. _How was she alive?_

Fury and fright were rushing through his veins like an ocean-roaring and blocking out every other noise.

"Who did this?" He heard himself ask-his voice sounded dreamy, far-away. Vaguely he was aware of Arthur reaching his side, coming to a halt somewhere in between Ariadne and him.

"She didn't see him very well, apparently." Cobb's eyes stayed on Ariadne's face-her lips tightened at Arthur's 'apparently'.

"Him?"

"The shooter. We think…well I think Ariadne is on to something."

Ariadne's face clearly morphed into a grimace-she stayed focus on something in the distance, venting her silent anger at Arthur's words out on them. It was strange-for suddenly things were making sense. Sapphire eyes dashed to the paintings on the wall, to the drawings on the table, to Ariadne's strained face.

Within seconds he had crossed the room till she was right in front of him. Startled she stood up straighter, eyelashes fluttering in temporary confusion. "What-"she didn't get the words out. He grabbed her left wrist with gentle fingers, pulling it towards him before he flipped it, face up. Behind him, Cobb was aware of Arthur's intake of breath at the sudden action, of Ariadne's mouth popping open with a little snap. Pulling back the cuff of her blouse he exposed the pale skin of her wrist, the dark vein that highlighted it: and all the red puncture dots that stood across it. Out the corner of his eye he could see Ariadne's chest start to drop and fall faster, as she was afraid. He had told her to stop…and she knew that. The day after they had gone separate ways, he'd left a message on her phone clearly explaining how he wished she wouldn't get into it…and now she was in too deep.

Looking up he caught her gaze-her eyes were wide, absolutely floored by his analysis.

"I thought I told you to stop." He whispered, his voice low enough so that Arthur, who was behind them, couldn't hear. Her eyes hardened minimally. "I didn't give you an answer, did I?" she replied, her words crisp and sharp. Emotions poured out of their eyes into the others-sapphire battled caramel for too, too long. During this moment, Cobb came to a realization.

He'd known she wouldn't have stopped.

This didn't bother him like it should…because he knew.

Because it's what Mal would've done.

She wouldn't have listened either.

And the fire blazing behind the young Architect's eyes was just enough to prove it-that he had no control over Ariadne either, no control over this intelligent, absolutely stunning being before him.

The independence, the creativity, the passion-he recognized it, accepted it in her as he done his former wife. As he came to the realization he began to see all sorts of similarities, patterns that they both shared.

It was too much to think about at the moment-he was comparing them side to side, as if he was window-shopping, and it stunned him into silence with unannounced pain and desire. This wasn't right…

_Mal wasn't her. Ariadne is her own person. _

And, God, it was true in so many ways-

It was when Arthur was coming up behind them, desperately wanting to know what was going on, when a knock sounded on the door.

"That should be Eames." Arthur yelled over his shoulder; his staccato footsteps were heard all the way to the door. Cobb took a shaky breath before breaking eye-contact with Ariadne, turning his back on her in order to look at Arthur answer the door.

Ariadne blinked three times before pulling her blouse down and over the markings, crossing her arms once more.


	7. Part 5: Complete Disintegration

**Note-bad guy aka Thad-****Rufus Sewell**

**Arthur's ex aka Lacey**** Christina Hendricks**

**~Heyy! Things are going to start picking up a bit now…yay! I really don't know how long this whole story's gonna be…oh, wells. Thanks for everyone who reads, please review if you can! I try to respond to my reviews ASAP so that you know I read them. Inception is not mine-yet. My plan of blackmailing Christopher Nolan still has a few quirks to it until its perfect…just kidding people. Anywaysss, enjoy!~**

**Part 5: ****Complete Disintegration**

*Minutes before Cobb's arrival:

"_Ariadne, I know you found out something. No one would come after you except Cobol, and we've dealt with them."_

_Her eyes were hard, anger making her mouth turn into a straight line. "I told you, I don't know, Arthur." _

_He wanted to do something, anything to make her understand. Grab her maybe, shake her up a little bit-because she hadn't seen herself dying slowly, having to work fast in order to save what remained of her life. She hadn't seen all the blood and all the times his red die was rolled across the floor…_

"_Tell me what you know, Ariadne." He spoke calmly, the words soft. "I need to know who did this, which means I have to know what you've been doing these past few months. I won't have to ask you this again-" _

"_Arthur, I am not comfortable with telling you anything about how my life as been-"_

_He was beyond exasperated, a spark flickering behind his chocolate eyes. "Why not-"_

"_How did you even know where my apartment was?" The question was so out of the blue it threw him off balance. He paused- the flames in his eyes died, his posture loosening in shock as she stared at him, waiting for an answer. He returned her gaze as coolly as he could, mind scrambling. His throat closed-the words were choking him, cutting off any semblance of a sentence._

_She seemed to come to a conclusion during his silence. "I'm not safe being normal anymore, I know that now. But I can take care of myself." Her seemingly endless brown eyes bored into his, her challenge still ringing through the air around them, when there came a knock on the door…_*

"Arthur! C'mon' now, is that a way to greet a friend?"

Arthur couldn't seem to help the permanent scowl that flew across his face when Eames was within a ten feet radius. Eames' cat-like grin practically glowed, his moss-green eyes bright with withheld commentary. The grey-button up that he wore was paired with a tan jacket and slacks, the entire outfit ruffled out of carelessness. Arthur wanted to tell Eames to go change and make himself presentable or something equally as ridiculous in order to make him go away. Eames noticed his gaze. "Jealous of my wonderfully dashing outfit, Arthur? I would be too if I was you." _Make that a __**hundred**__ feet._

Eames couldn't seem to keep his eyes to himself-he tried to peer around Arthur, questions pouring out of his mouth with distilled charm.

"Where's our little Architect, hmm? Recovering hopefully, not sulking like yourself, here, Arthur? Well, will you let me in?"

Arthur's jaw tightened and a grimace made itself known-he shook his head slightly as Cobb spoke up from behind him.

"Let him in Arthur. This is business."

Begrudgingly Arthur stepped aside, Eames striding in with the pride of some newly mated peacock. Arthur shut the door, slid the lock across with a fresh click, and then slowly turned around. Cobb stood near the rectangular drawing table (Same wood as the floor, probably a little bit older due to the wear) and Eames stood some feet away, hands on his hips as he looked around. A low whistle echoed throughout the apartment as Eames finally laid his eyes on Ariadne who lay against the door post. "Nice taste, luve." He complimented, striding over her as he spoke, casting one more mischievous glance around. Finally meeting her eyes she grinned up at him-Arthur felt strangely enraged by this, his fingers tightening around air. "But I think that a little…sultriness could be called for, no?" He raised his eyebrows at her as she replied cheekily:

"Like what I wonder…"

"Thought you'd never ask, dear-poles in every room."

Ariadne's eyebrows rose in disbelief at the suggestion, her smile growing wider as Arthur groaned:

"Thank God Ariadne's smart enough to not do something so undeniably idiotic."

Eames ignored Arthur's comment, reaching out an arm so that he could lean against the other side of the doorway, keeping his eyes on the small woman to the right of him. "Just think of it-your little artist parties would be hits, luve."

"I'm sure."

"Dear, if you did a little dance I'm sure everyone would come."

Every muscle tightened in Arthur as the thought occurred to him. Ariadne, dancing for a group of her male 'artist friends'…his stomach clenched in a death grip. Right then, he wanted to clock Eames one. She wasn't like that…couldn't Eames see she was more than that? That she was too smart and clever too ever submit herself to any man in such a manner. Molten lava slipped into his veins at the mere thought of any other man looking at her, like he would, if she was somehow rubbing herself against a bronze pole…

He stood up straighter, taking a deep breath through his nose. Eames was getting to him already.

"Alright, Eames." Cobb warned, shifting in his jeans and polo. "Here on business, remember?"

Arthur felt a rush of relief at Cobb's words-business, something that he understood…

"Of course, Cobb darling." Eames dropped his arm, standing on both two feet once more. Again Eames looked down on Ariadne-but this time he spoke in a softer tone.

"You all right, luve? Looks like they got you bad this time." He slipped his hands into his pockets casually, tilting his head in order to watch her reaction.

Ariadne smiled weakly-she appeared as if she would pass out where she stood.

"Yeah, I survived." She joked, her voice small in comparison to Eames'. Arthur felt the urge to go to her and lead her to the couch-but he didn't react fast enough.

Cobb stepped forward slightly, concern written all over his face. "Maybe you should sit down…"

Ariadne's head seemed to move in slow motion as she glanced at Cobb. "Right…" she turned back to Eames. "A little help?"

"With pleasure." Eames teased, holding out his elbow elegantly. Ariadne's laugh was hardly substantial-it fell flat as her small fingers closed over Eames arm. Eames made a big show of silently making the trek to the couch, placing his hand on Ariadne's waist in order to steady her. Cobb followed suit, sitting on a cleared edge of the drawing table, facing Ariadne's position on the couch. She plopped onto the nearest cushion rather ungracefully; Eames taking the spot beside her-Arthur barely withheld a hiss. Reaching Cobb's side he stood, towering over the other three.

"Well now that we're all settled-" Eames began, gesturing to the small circle, (Ariadne smiled at this), "why don't you mind telling us why we're all here, Arthur?" Finished with his question Eames leaned back on the couch, throwing his arms up and behind Ariadne's shoulders.

Arthur scoffed before speaking, glancing once at Ariadne's face. She was looking up at him just as expectantly as the others were, her eyes wide. His heart stuttered briefly-she always did throw him off. Looking away he cleared his throat, beginning his explanation.

"Three days ago I received a call from Ariadne. She informed me that she'd been shot and I reacted accordingly."

Cobb nodded thoughtfully hands clasped on his lap absentmindedly. "Good job, Arthur." He added. Arthur nodded, accepting the compliment.

"I have the bullet-later we can examine it and attempt to determine the shooter. This is not why I called you together, however." Arthur paused, looking off into the distance as he remembered the week before. "A week ago I received an email from a reliable source. They heard word of Inception and they want our team to do a job." Returning to earth he eyed his colleagues' reactions. Ariadne's eyebrows reached her hairline but other than that her face was calm.

"Sounds great, when do we begin?" Rolling his eyes Arthur finally looked at Eames delightful face.

"As soon as possible."

"What kind of job?" Cobb asked, "Anything we've done before?" Arthur looked at the famous Extractor gratefully, wanting Eames out of sight.

"No, something completely new. I've never even heard of it being done before, until now."

Cobb was genuinely surprised-his eyebrows went up, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"What is it?" Ariadne interrupted-Arthur couldn't help but look at her, taking in the generous amount of curiosity on her face that made him smile crookedly.

"Complete Disintegration." Arthur answered, "Or, to put it simply, erasing someone's memory."

There was a weighed silence-its length whispered doubts into Arthur's ears. He played his best poker-face, however-he remained utterly still, hands in his pockets, weight on one leg as his heart-beat skipped on replay.

Ariadne was the first to speak, naturally-all three men turned towards her. "Do we even know how to do this? I mean, is it just me or does this sound extremely difficult? It's one thing to plant an idea let alone pull that off…"

"I think we can do it, personally." Eames butted in, waving the hand nearest to her right shoulder absentmindedly. The gesture was another reminder of their close proximity and Arthur's chest constricted. Ariadne turned to face Eames, her face covered with wonderment at his open opinion.

"How do you think, Eames?" Cobb presented the question, folding his hands together and placing his chin upon them. His blue eyes landed on Eames, his challenge clear in the intensity of his gaze.

"Well, if Arthur here-" Eames gestured to Arthur with the same hand and Arthur barely withheld a grimace-"presented this idea to us, I'm sure he thoroughly thought about this, am I right?" Eames jade eyes glowed as he met Arthur's gaze-Arthur nodded in response, ebony hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Of course." He added flatly.

"Well then there you have it." Eames stated, dropping his hand onto Ariadne's shoulder carelessly. Ariadne stiffened but other than that didn't react, continuing to stare straight ahead. Arthur's lungs turned within his chest, unconsciously glaring at Eames hand. "Arthur here has a plan."

Cobb nodded at the response, sitting up, his eyes wandering away from Eames hand and to Arthur's face.

"I hope you have a professional that can help us. I don't want to screw up someone's mind because we weren't being careful."

Arthur covered up his surprise at the change of subject, his eyes dashing away from Ariadne's occupied shoulder. Silently he had noted the fact that Cobb seemed ready to board-that was a good sign- before speaking hesitantly.

"Of course." Immediately the team noticed his brief pause, his lack of informed answer. It was so un-Arthur-ish it was painstakingly obvious.

As if slightly worried about Arthur's lack of a name, Eames spoke up a little later than he would have.

"Who, mate?" All three members of the previous Inception team stared expectantly up at him.

Avoiding Ariadne's eyes, Arthur fixedly watched the horizon. His stomach jumped and he shifted in his slacks uncomfortably, but he said it anyway.

"Lacey. Lacey Bishop."

Eames muttered a quick curse at the stranger's name and Cobb closed his eyes slowly, as if the movement pained him. Ariadne frantically glanced at all of them, wanting to be in on it. Finally she placed her caramel eyes on Arthur, wondering who could've made her team members act this way.

"Who's Lacey Bishop?"

And once again, Arthur's stomach plunged.


	8. Part 6: Mac N' Cheese

**Part 6- Mac N' Cheese**

After a torturously long shower the change of clothes was refreshing-the sweatshirt and boxers did little to warm her but they certainly were comfy. Snatching the brush off the countertop Ariadne ran it through her hair one last time, any knots destroyed in the process. Placing the brush down she examined herself. Her hair was an undulating, luminous brown that lay a couple inches past her shoulders. The sweatshirt she wore was grey with long sleeves that covered the numerous puncture marks Cobb had noticed earlier. Recalling the incident made her remember the message he'd left on her phone the day after the Inception job-the one she couldn't bring herself to answer.

_*Beeeep* Ariadne…I know I'm not supposed to be calling you, I've told all of us to not contact the other unless there's an emergency, but…I just wanted to say that you did a great job out there. The idea about the multiple kicks and saving Fisher-that was great. If it wasn't for you I may have never gotten home, and…I needed too. For my children…._

There was a long pause over which he spoke none at all-it had made her anxious.

_And I'm sorry for what you saw down there, in Limbo. It's my fault you had to go down there; I promised to Miles you would never get that deep and at the time I meant it. You never were supposed to go that deep…just please promise me you won't do what I did. Stop dreaming, as fast and as best as you can. All of it. You saw what happened down there and you know when you're that far gone…there's no getting away from it. _

Another long pause, a clearing of the throat.

_Stop dreaming. Call me back when you get this and at least tell me that you're stopping. I just don't want you to get hurt…Call me when you get this. That'll be the last time we'll ever talk, I promise. Call me. _

For obvious reasons, she couldn't answer. Of course, she'd tried school for a very, very short time. For one week she had attempted to return and learn at Paris' School of Architecture-it was awful. Her reflection visibly shuddered at the many hours she had barely survived through class, her thoughts always turning back towards dreaming. She couldn't escape it then, and no way in hell was she getting out of it now. She loved creating palaces, whole countries, when she was asleep, too much to quit…but that doesn't mean there wasn't any downsides to her recent addiction.

Her eyes traveled down the length of her reflection until she caught sight of the bright pink boxers that kissed her hip bones-it wasn't her style, usually-but her constant dreaming had left little time to do laundry, and they were the only thing available to cover her lower half at the moment. Luckily, Eames and Arthur didn't even suspect, that she knew of, and coming out like this would be fine. Cobb knew-but she would never give him anything to lead on. The memory of Cobb's flaring blue gaze followed her out into her adjoining bedroom.

As she walked over to the door a voice started up behind it that made her jump.

"Are you coming out anytime soon, luve? Is it those nasty bandages-I could help with them. Wouldn't take me long at-"

"Do you ever think before you speak?" Arthur's hiss was audible, even through the wood of the door.

"Of course I do." Eames teased-even though Ariadne wasn't present to watch this little back and forth she could practically feel the tension piling up behind the cherry wood-and generally wanting to avoid a fight, she walked out.

Eames had been facing the door but now he was turned towards Arthur, who looked PO-ed beyond relief. It was if they'd been turned to statues-in half a second Arthur bent his head, shaking it back and forth before glancing up again. Upon hearing the door open Eames whipped around-his gaze didn't miss her outfit. Sliding his eyes up and down her body with ease he grinned cheekily. "Not the most flattering outfit, but with all that leg showing I'm tempted to change my mind…nice color by the way." His eyes finally found her face-they were the color of fir trees on fire.

Ariadne nodded, feeling self-conscious; they were just PJs to her, and she hadn't thought they were all that revealing-it wasn't like her body was the hottest anyway. Rubbing her arm in a sudden moment of exposure she grinned weakly, feeling light-headed for a moment-she supposed it was the blood-loss. She also supposed it was the blood-loss that made her look past Eames and to Arthur, whose eyes ran over her quickly, once-before he lowered his gaze, turned away, and headed back to the kitchen in order to finish the dish-cleaning he had started.

Her breath came out in a packed huff and Eames eyes seemed to dull, as if he was thinking hard about something. Turning he followed her gaze-alarmed at how quick he had caught on she looked away from Arthur's retreating figure, but it was too late. A brief flash of a smile skipped across the Forger's face before it fell, as he turned back to Ariadne. He kept his voice at a low volume, jovially stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Hmm, so Ariadne has the hots for our Point-Man?" He followed the quip with a sneaky grin-her cheeks practically burst into flame.

Flustered she blinked hard, her face freezing over. Not true at all-Arthur was a co-worker and a friend, and at the moment his 'friendliness' didn't seem to extend to her. But he had pulled the bullet from her wound; come racing when she called…that had to mean that she meant something to him, right? But his cold back was facing her, denying all form of the word 'friends'. She met Eames eyes, her brown eyes blistering.

"Of course not, Eames." She whispered back, her voice tinted with a sharp edge despite the smoothness of her words. "I'm just feeling…" she trailed off. He raised his eyebrows at her empty stare. "Feeling hungry." She finished. Eames eyebrows stayed raised but he nodded. "Alrighty then, me too. 'Sbout bloody time you said something about it-what do you have, dear?"

A few minutes later found Ariadne face down, a gooey, mellow orange substance in her line of vision. "I never thought of you as a Mac n' Cheese girl. You and Arthur have such similar tastes for the delicate things in life I never would've thought." Eames jab at Arthur was wasted at the moment-as soon as they had planned on cooking he'd promptly exited the apartment along with Cobb, both claiming that they needed to discuss things dealing with the new job. Ariadne ignored the comment-stirring twice she set a timer, turning her back on the pot so she could rest against the oven, arms crossed.

"Have you just recently lost your hearing dear or are you giving me the cold shoulder?" Ariadne looked up at Eames, who was leaning on the kitchen's black marble island a few feet away. Ariadne smirked at him, her only answer, or lack of one, scorching the tip of her tongue. "Who's Lacey Bishop?"

Eames smile faltered at the name, the fun in his eyes disappearing- and suddenly he was staring down on her very seriously. "Honestly, luve? You don't want to know." That lit Ariadne up like a fire-cracker-she was getting annoyed by how many people were telling her what to do. "Tell me!" She demanded, sitting up straighter, striding over to him. Leaning back in order to look at him did little to dim her fury-she rapidly began poking his chest with fazers set on rapid fire. "I'm-(poke) tired-(poke)-of-(poke)-"

"Dammit woman! You're ruining my fine apparel!" exclaimed Eames, jumping out of the way of her vengeful fingers. She continued anyway, her voice raised and aimed at him with ruthless determination."-people telling me what to do! Just tell me who she is already!" Eames seemed shocked temporarily, before he recovered, his usual pleasantries resuming. "Never thought you were the yelling type, luve. Always thought you knew better." Ariadne dodged his pathetic attempt to change the subject. "Who. Is. She." It was a demand now, something that had to be answered. For a second Eames was indecisive-but it didn't take long for him to get over it. He assumed his earlier position against the island before continuing. "She's a Forger." He paused, assessing how well Ariadne downloaded this before moving on. "She's almost as good as me, but not quite. She's rather sassy, cunning, and a great tease. Someone who's really fun to hang out with, most of the time-except when she sees Arthur, then its all down to hell…" Ariadne's expression hardly changed-"Who is she to Arthur?"

Eames seemed to weigh the consequences of telling her once again-but then admitted: "She's Arthur's ex. They were a serious awhile back. How that she-devil ever fell for the likes of Arthur I'll never know…"

Ariadne's heart sank to her feet-so this was what the team knew, that she didn't. It was even worse knowing it now-it was if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her feet. Arthur had an ex? Everyone knew her? And not to mention she sounded like she was everything Ariadne was not, and-why was this even bothering her? It wasn't like the team didn't need a great Architect-this Lacey couldn't provide to the team what Ariadne herself did. Eames was watching her reaction openly, studying her every facial feature with soft eyes. The only thing she could do was nod-her face felt stretched, as if she had done too much that day and it was coming down on her now. Her light-headedness started up again-she wavered slightly on her feet and Eames grabbed her arm in order to keep her upright. "Steady there, Ariadne. We need your little architect self in perfect condition." He was gripping her arm now, looking down on her with surprising tenderness. "These bandages are a little too tight…" she mumbled-he nodded discreetly, accepting her whimsy excuse. Just then Cobb and Arthur returned, the door slamming behind them.

"Yusef will be here tomorrow." Cobb announced, cramming a silver flip phone back into his jeans pocket. Eames looked up at their entrance, exclaiming, "Great! I miss the man!" before taking a quick, desperate look at Ariadne as she began falling forward once again. Graciously attempting to cover up the situation he allowed his grip to climb higher up her arm so as in order to giver her more support. Glancing over at Eames both men noticed Ariadne's weak condition-Eames was practically holding her up. Cobb's eyebrows pressed in on his forehead in worry-"Ariadne, you okay?"

Arthur was more subtle. "Eames, maybe Ariadne needs some rest-"

"I'm fine, Arthur." Arthur's comment seemed to push her-she stood up, tearing her arm away from Eames. As if to defy her point her body swayed once again, hardly able to stand on its own two feet. She bit back a hard groan, her stomach aching with all its might. With all the defiance in the world she glared at Arthur:

"I'm fine." Her voice was deadly, dripping with danger.

Cobb, stupefied by Ariadne's unusually harsh reaction, grew even more worried, the ice in his eyes melting in sympathy. Eames waited for Arthur's reaction-and Arthur didn't disappoint. With a face devoid of all emotion his shadowy eyes met her gaze evenly. It burned her-the way he was looking at her, it caused her pain, because he was stabbing her by not speaking, by not showing any inch of warmth towards her.

"Ariadne, you need rest. Go to bed."

Ariadne literally deflated-her posture weakened, the spark in her eyes running away as he looked down on her from across the room. And then, without another word, she walked very purposely to her bedroom, shut the door, crammed a few pills in her mouth, and fell upon her bed. Within minutes she was dead asleep, not dreaming of anything at all.

Outside her door, a voice could be heard.

"You've bloody well done it now, Arthur."


	9. Part 7: Bullets and Navy Blue Bows

**~Sorry, this is a little bit longer. Once again, it's a little slow on the go but it will definitely pick up next chapter when Lacey comes. Then the dreaming will commence! Hope you have time to read all this…enjoy! –MsArtemis~**

**Part 7-Bullets and Navy Blue Bows **

_He was walking in the park. He used to drive past this everyday on his way to pick up Mal from errands-he'd never had time to truly appreciate it. He had no idea why he was in it now, or why he was alone, but he didn't really care. The sun was warm, the smell of grass was good, and the birds were singing. A vast clearing opened up in front of him-the grass was shorn, as if it had just been freshly mowed-he walked out of the shelter of the trees and right into it. As if walking past some invisible border line he crossed his way into silence-and now he was truly alone-in an empty space of mowed grass. A little nervous he began walking toward the trees at the head of the clearing-surely there would be noise there-but he was interrupted. Bent over in the grass, far ahead of him, was a woman. Her back was too him but he could tell she had long brown hair-she was looking at something in the grass, surely. "Hello!" He called out. She didn't turn, just stayed bent over. Concerned now, he ran towards her. Instantly, he was right at her back, practically breathing down her neck-and still, all he could hear were whispers. His curiosity overpowering he grabbed her shoulder roughly, turning her to face him. Dewy, brown eyes stared up at him, tears trailing down her face. Her mouth was dripping blood-it fell down her neck in ribbons as she stared up at him, making awful gurgling noises. Stepping away from her in shock he whispered: "Ariadne?" She kept choking on tears and blood, the mix of sobs and violent gore making horrible, treacherous noises. Rapidly he began stepping away-something was wrong. This was wrong. And then, as if he had been too close to her before, he found that it was Mal staring at him-her eyes practically violet in the sunlight as she wept. He tried to say something-but found he couldn't-she was just staring at him, sobbing and sobbing, the tears turning the blood pink…_

"_Dom!" She whispered-_and that's when he woke up.

Granted, it was unusual for him to be this irritable-but Ariadne wasn't present to distract him, he'd had yet another nightmare, and Eames and Arthur's constant bickering was wearing on him.

"How about I go and pick up some pizzas? I know a lovely little thing that wouldn't mind giving me a discount-"

"Sadly Eames, no one eats pizza for breakfast but you."

"I find that hard to believe, Arthur. Why, just the other day-"

Cobb, at the end of his rope, finally looked up. The two men reclined in decrepit lawn chairs, each chair positioned at opposite sides of the little circle they were in. At the moment Arthur was staring at Eames with an open expression of disgust-Eames was returning the stare with something similar, if not more playful than Arthur's glare. Arthur was opening his mouth, ready to retort, when Cobb reached his feet, stepping in.

"I suggest we wait for Ariadne to arrive before we discuss breakfast plans." His voice snatched the argument up and crumpled it-the commanding air and seriousness of it left Eames and Arthur swimming. Cobb met Eames eyes, almost as if challenging the Forger, but Eames merely nodded, muttering an 'I agree' before looking away. Arthur snapped his mouth shut, studying Cobb as if he had suddenly noticed something strange, his face tightening. Suddenly, a voice chimed in from behind shelves of multi-colored beakers and glass, ending Arthur's examination.

"You two are quite a pair-but I won't let your senseless arguments ruin my happiness."

Cobb shot a smile at Yusuf, the Indian accent instantly recognizable despite the shelves that blocked him from view. The world renowned Chemist had arrived very early at the ware-house where they now stood; when Cobb questioned it Yusuf reassured him that he didn't need sleep. Secretly Cobb already had assumed that Yusuf slept hardly at all, as the Indian's profession implied.

"So because a man's married he can't enjoy a good, intellectual spar or two?" Eames joked, tipping back as far as his grey slacks and evergreen button up would allow. Cobb was about to respond when he saw the direction of Arthur's gaze.

"Yusuf, you're married?" And there was Ariadne, standing in the warehouse doorway. The door slammed shut behind her-and the warehouse was dead silent. Everyone was looking at her-for today, Ariadne had decided to play dress-up. She wore a navy blue pencil dress that tied around her tiny waist with a silky bow of the same color. The dress curved softly around her bust with a square neckline-it was also sleeveless-he half wondered how cold she must be, it was windy out today…The outfit was completed with a signature off-white sheer scarf, her delicate collarbone prominent beneath the fabric. Her hair was even different-it was pulled up in a swirling bun, only a few wavy strands allowed to escape and trace her face.

With an air of calamity she balanced a matching white purse and a carton of coffees-her wide eyes were a shade of shy gold, so light the brown was. Shifting in her white heels she looked around, her gaze landing on no one as the silence continued. She was absolutely adorable-and for reasons unknown he wanted to hold her because of it. For a prolonged moment, she said nothing-and then she met Cobb's gaze, her eyes full of unpredicted meekness. Cobb's reaction was unexpected, even to himself-he grinned, nodding at her in a very polite fashion. "Hello, Ariadne."

"Hey." She whispered, almost afraid to talk-but as his smile continued, she spoke up.

Smiling back at Cobb, her courage now revived, she looked past him, seeking the Chemist.

"Yusuf? You got married since we last saw you?"

Cobb turned to catch Yusuf's nod. "Yes. We are very much in love." He added, smiling warmly at Ariadne. Ariadne returned the smile while finding the nearest table, which happened to be to the right of his experiment area. After depositing the coffee and her purse on the table-top she turned to Yusef, arms wide open. "Congrats." She chirped, not budging from her awkward position. Yusuf seemed to be having a crisis-he looked at the other men, as if expecting that Ariadne's invitation was some practical joke. Cobb earnestly met the man's gaze, raising his eyebrows as if to say: "I don't know either." At any rate, Yusef didn't keep her waiting long- for he was nothing if polite. Walking forward with cautious steps he embraced her-her small arms folded around him easily as they hugged. Eames watched the exchange with mild attention, leaning forward so that he could place his chin on his fist. Checking out Ariadne out about three more times he smiled slyly-it was so strange how Cobb felt his stomach burn at this-as if he didn't know that Eames was just joking, just messing around like he usually did…

With a little pat Ariadne pulled away from Yusef, whose face bragged all forms of baffled-and with a quick spin she trotted over and picked up the coffee carton. "Who wants coffee?" she called, her eyes downcast as she recounted the Styrofoam cups. The whole warehouse carried the air of an empty tomb-it wasn't until she raised her eyes a few seconds later that she realized that she remained the center of attention.

"What?"

Cobb shook his head as if he had just awoken-Arthur bowed his head, avoiding anyone's eyes-and Yusef watched on as Eames sat up, as if enormously energized. "Well, I guess we can start off with some coffee today…"

The black coffee was only half-way gone, the cup lacking warmth as it sat in between Cobb's palms. The rest of the team had long ago abandoned their drinks, the Styrofoam cups sitting proudly next to each individual's lawn chair. It was almost evening-and they were reviewing the facts, yet again. The 9mm bullet had come from an automatic pistol which had been shot a close distance according to the depth of the wound-it was absolutely amazing she was with them at all. The bullet had somehow managed to pass through-it had been stuck somewhere near her spine, which is where Arthur had pulled it out.

"So you're saying that someone, possibly from Cobol, snuck into Ariadne's apartment through her sliding glass door, went to her bedroom, and shot her?"

Arthur nodded curtly at Cobb. "Yes, that is exactly what I suspect happened."

"Arthur, I hate to contradict-"Eames began.

"I bet you do-"

"But her apartment's too high. If anything the attacker would've had to come from a helicopter, and I'm afraid that her neighbors would notice something as loud and as huge as that."

Arthur, standing behind his chair, gripped the edges with tight fingers as he turned towards Ariadne, whom hours ago had been the picture of a new day, was currently falling asleep where she sat. Regarding her poor appearance Cobb felt his heart go out-her face was wan, her eyelids heavy as she shallowly breathed in and out. For a moment, Cobb swore he could see something flicker behind Arthur's eyes as he looked at her. "You said you didn't see him?" The Point-Man's voice seemed to have snapped on the way out-it was soft, gentle even. Ariadne sighed-Eames took this as his chance to jump in.

"Give it a rest, Arthur. She's obviously in shock or something equally horrible. "

Arthur sighed loudly, repeating the question: "Ariadne, did you see him at all? Any facial features you can tell us would be helpful towards identifying the shooter."

The question seemed to jar her-her eyes fluttered open, her nose scrunching up slightly as she remembered. She was more awake now; staring at something off in the distance. Cobb leaned forward.

"Think about it, Ariadne." He whispered, now catching the spark in her eyes. Stunned at the interruption Eames shut up very quickly.

"Did you see the face behind the gun?" Cobb's voice was low, reverberating through his chest like the purr of a lion. Desperately, as if she felt pressured, she began to blab. "I don't know-I think I did. He had on a ski mask, I think. "Her eyes began to dash around, as if she was seeing something that wasn't Cobb, who was maybe a yard straight in front of her. "He demanded something…I answered back." She shivered slightly, as she was suffering overload.

He could see how close she was to pure panic-she was trying so hard to keep the fear locked up in her eyes, to keep impassive. Arthur's fingers gripped the top of his chair so tight his knuckles were turning various shades of red but he remained still, not making any move to help Ariadne whatsoever-it was Cobb who was there for her.

"It's alright, take your time. There's no rush-we just want to know who hurt you."

His sapphire eyes were satiny, his voice just as soft-and without a thought he reached over and put his hand on her knee. It was an automatic attempt at comforting her- something he didn't have to think about to know that it was right. At his touch her leg turned to ice under his palm-her wild, golden eyes dashed to his, so many questions crowding around her pupils that it was absolutely exhilarating. For in this moment, they could answer any of them, side by side, dreaming together…

Eames raised his eyebrows high, leaning back in his chair watching how this scene would unfold. Arthur's eyes penetrated Cobb's hand with a brief look of ferocity that only Yusef and Eames saw. The fire in the Point man's eyes cooled almost as fast as it had come; the only change was that his grip on the back of the chair was even more so crippling than before, the furniture piece literally groaned beneath his knuckles. Slowly, reluctantly, her panic diminished-not once did Cobb and her break eye contact; as her breathing turned down several notches. Cobb, for all the world, had forgotten anyone else existed but them. It was when he finally felt some sense of peace, that she broke their gaze, her eyes slipping shut. And then, she whispered something, a delicate, velvety thing of a name that he wasn't sure he heard right at all.

"_Mal."_ His hand tensed-and the most painful wave of guilt he had ever experienced in his entire life washed over him. It was if he was drowning in agony, as if some wall had been holding this all back until now…and without another word, he pushed himself away from his chair, strode out of the circle, and exited the ware-house. Immediately the chilly Paris night air hit him-but he was immune to it at the moment; he was far too busy thinking. It went without saying that what he did was absolutely unprofessional-so far from the collected extractor he was used to being he wanted to scream. Stalking toward his sedan, his footsteps full of self-hatred, he unlocked the door, about to get in when a voice sounded off behind him.

"Cobb-where are you going?"

Cobb whipped around only to find Ariadne, navy blue dress and all, standing before him. She had one arm wrapped tightly around her middle, right where the bullet hole lay. He was staring at her midsection, wishing to God that he had somehow been there so that she had never gotten hurt…

"My eyes are up here, Cobb." Cobb obeyed, his eyes snapping up and into hers with a startling swiftness. For a moment, they stared again-the few strands that brushed her face waved in the wind, her small, pink mouth open…

"Why did you say her name?" The whisper was broken, a piece of his shattered soul she couldn't help but feel sorry for. "Cobb-I'm so sorry I don't know why…I-we need to talk sometime. About what happened after Inception." Staring down at her he nodded dreamily, as if he was hearing her through thick glass. Her caramel eyes softened-and then she did something outrageously bold and unexpected- she reached out, and with the tips of her fingers touched his cheek. "I'm so sorry." She murmured, shivering in her sleeve-less dress. For a moment, he relished in this-the feel of her fingers, the way she was staring up at him, _feeling_ for him. And the little pain he could see in her eyes wounded him more than he could bear-he brought his hand to hers, bringing it down. "We will talk sometime." He reassured-why they were both speaking under their breath, he did not know. Neither of them realized that they were still holding the others hand in a loose grip while they talked, but then again he didn't notice the light pink in her cheeks and she didn't notice his jumping pulse-neither of them knew. "Lacey's coming tomorrow though." Her face twisted at the name-he moved on, being as gentle as possible. "Be prepared. She's quite the character." He grinned at her and she smiled up at him, both of them standing there for a bit.

"Come back inside, luve, you'll freeze your beautiful legs off!" Eames was standing in the warehouse doorway, waiting. Ariadne turned back to Cobb one last time, smiling one of her all knowing grins that he recalled from the Inception days. "Goodbye." She whispered-and then she was walking away from him, returning to Eames. It wasn't until he was well on the way to his hotel that he realized they'd been holding hands, even for the briefest of moments…and certainly neither of them noticed Arthur, who had been watching them from the ware-house doorway the entire time. As soon as he'd seen them touch, he'd left without another word-neither Yusuf nor Eames questioned his absence.


	10. Part 8: Apathy Aftermath, Piece I

**~There will be a Part 8-Apathy Aftermath, Piece II in Ariadne's POV next. Lacey Bishop is Christina Hendricks. Google her if you need an image. Sorry for the late update! Enjoy-MsArtemis~**

**Part 8- Apathy Aftermath, Piece I**

_At Cobb's hurried exit, Ariadne struggled to reach her feet, her eyes filled to the brim with remorse and regret. Arthur caught what she was trying to do- coming around to the side of the chair she was attempting to get off of, he put his hands on her shoulders and pressed down firmly. He strove for total dominance over his poker face, even when she whipped around and regarded him with scalding caramel eyes. _

"_You need to stay still. Your injuries are still healing." She was half-way up now, sitting straight with a barely contained grimace. An unbidden gasp came out from behind her teeth, but she still managed to use it, twisting the hiss into a sentence._

"_Let me go, Arthur." _

_The words were so full of malice that it stung his palms, which lay upon her bare shoulders. He dropped them sluggishly, as if she had taken all his energy with her one snide comment. With one last heave she reached her feet, precariously teetering on her heels before him. He stood there frozen-for what could he do to change her mind? "Excuse me." She muttered…he moved aside, watching as she disappeared out the ware-house exit. _

_Her faint call managed to reach his ears: "Cobb?" _

_His curiosity got the better of him. _

At ten in the morning on a weekday, Paris was practically bursting at the seams with life-traffic was smothering, hundreds of coffee-boys were sprinting, and the number of people on bikes had multiplied since the day before. The weather, which was full of sunshine with the occasional breeze, probably added to the appeal of going out as well.

Arthur, however, was still wearing one of his typical outfits despite the warmer climate. His slacks were the richest of blacks, his long sleeved button-up shirt a matching color only with silver pinstripes. Adding to the outfit was a tie, which was the same luminescent grey color of the shirt-stripes. He didn't have the usual vest or jacket, but he was confident that the clean, crisp, professional look he admired so much resided within the outfit he had created two hours earlier, the very one in which he now wore.

Finally pulling out of the traffic he stamped on the gas pedal, eating gravel with ease. Speeding up an alley he slowed down, turning right, then left, then another left until he found himself across the street from the infamous ware-house. Unsuspecting people continually past the glossy, wooden front doors, moving on to their destination which lay in the bank a block down or a law firm another block over.

The ware-house's appearance was completely contradictory; by looking at it one would assume it was a library or something else distinguished and benign, something that fit in with this seemingly classy down-town district. Not a place where world-class criminals and thieves gathered daily and tested their insane theories while they slept…

His silver Toyota Camry (A rental; the latest edition with a leather interior and all the added oddities-it was American-just so that if anyone caught his appearance through the tinted windows they would assume he was some naïve tourist racing to catch sight of the Eiffel tower and not a wanted thief.) –slid around to the vacant parking lot that lay behind the ware-house. No one saw his entrance-stepping out of the car he clicked the lock button before slipping the car keys in his pocket. He turned towards the back door and took in all the empty parking spaces-he was the first one to arrive. The black pavement and yellow lines temporarily lit up his vision, for he'd been here the night before, looking in on something that he shouldn't have seen…

_Ariadne touched Cobb's unshaven jaw with her fingertips-even from this distance he could see the ferocity in the others gaze, the way they didn't break eye contact as they whispered. He had not seen this coming-he had not predicted this…for God's sake, why hadn't he? Cobb took her hand away so gently-at the action Arthur felt some kind of sting, his breath snapping like a rubber band in his throat. And they were still staring-and they were holding hands. Each ones hand was casually enveloped in the others as her tiny fingers fell away from his face…Something similar to an electric tidal wave shook through Arthur-a fierce pain that he could not deny, nor ignore-and since he was not meant to be in this picture anyways, he left. _

It was eventually the memories of the night before that forced him to sweep up his baggage, shut and lock the car, and push his way into the warehouse. The circle of lawn chairs stood as depleted as before, as he placed the silver briefcase on the table in the center. The plan today was simple: they would learn about the mark. Lacey was the one, who weeks ago, had supplied him with the information on the case. She would be the one to introduce the case to the other team members as well. On top of the PASIV he placed his other package; a gift for Lacey. It was her favorite coffee drink (Vanilla latte with a sprinkling of cinnamon), straight from Star Bucks-he told himself that it was a thank you gift for presenting them with the opportunity to make a fortune. That was it, partly-the other part consisted of his way of coping, a pain-reliever for the things he had seen in the parking lot hours before.

To be honest, Arthur hadn't had many relationships. The precious few that he'd taken seriously had ended up being wastes of time. Lacey, at first, had been an exception. She was bold, colorful, didn't hold anything back; she could practically be Eames' sister, and Arthur still had been attracted to her. She was ravishing, something that had set his blood on fire at first sight. He didn't want to face her, for she was dangerous; and both of them being in the same room after four years was just about as good as playing with matches. Nothing good would come of it, really-unless he played his cards as well as her. For she was a drama-starter, always had been-and he was ready for it. His examination of the PASIV now successful (everything was in place, just as planned) he slammed the lid shut, officially shutting off all thought processes until the others arrived.

Twenty minutes after Arthur's arrival, Cobb, Yusuf, and Eames had entered the warehouse. They all arrived with seconds of each other, receiving a crack from Eames about how compatible they all were. Arthur was pulling the whiteboard from their previous job out of a closet at the far end of the room, dragging it over in order to place it at the head of the lawn chair-circle.

Cobb walked in, wearing his professional tux and plopped down in the chair south of the whiteboard and silver briefcase. "When will Lacey be arriving?" he questioned, while Eames, in one of his usual bright outfits, sat in the chair to Cobb's left.

"She didn't mention a time." Arthur answered, his voice dead and unimpressed. Frankly, it pissed him off that she was rude enough to send him a text at one in the morning, saying: _I'll be there sometime in the morning. No need to worry. _

But that's what she had intended to do, make him angry. And in expecting that, he refused to react to her presence, at least, while she was on this case.

Currently Yusuf was over in his chemical area, preparing the sedative for insertion.

"How much longer Yusuf?" Arthur called.

"It is done-just a last minute check."

It was then that the ware-house door slammed shut, announcing another guest. Everyone turned towards the door, expecting to see their faithful Architect.

But standing there, in front of the door, was Lacey Bishop.

"Miss me?" she cooed, a slim hand landing on a curved hip. Arthur attempted at nonchalance as he scanned her outfit, deathly silence reigning over the room.

She wore a shimmery turquoise dress that offset her creamy skin and matched her eyes to the exact shade. It had straps that led to a v-neck that displayed her rather huge assets tastefully as well as cinch warmly at her waist. The hem fluttered above her knees, free to do as it pleased. Her feet were displayed by golden gladiator sandals that completed the outfit to a 'T'. Her hair was a luxurious strawberry blonde that looked more ruby at times than gold-at the moment it was piled high atop her head in a beehive fashion, only a few curls allowed to escape. The small curls drew attention to her thin face, her lips a slim pink package just below her sharp nose. Her aquamarine eyes were shaped like a cat's-they openly glittered, as she stared directly at Arthur, as if she was laughing at him noiselessly.

He didn't satisfy her with an answer, but she seemed to take his lack of a reply as encouragement. She caught sight of Eames: "Eames-how are you? Long time no speak mi cheri." Her voice was poisonous, images of lace and daggers coming to mind as she spoke. Eames rose to his feet slowly, as if in awe, before walking towards her, arms open. "You're telling me, Lace! How long has it been now? Four years?"

"You remembered." She cooed, ignoring the implied _four years since you and Arthur split. _

Yusuf, almost against his will, so stunned by her presence was he, took her purse when she handed it to him, wandering back to the Chemist area in order to place it somewhere. Arthur almost felt sorry for the Chemist-Lacey had always been stunning, almost always seemingly glowing from head to toe.

Yet, somehow, years ago, Cobb had seen past the glow before Arthur had. At that moment Cobb was sitting still, eyeing Lacey with clear distrust as she and Eames embraced.

As they pulled apart Eames announced: "We must all go drinking sometime. Reminisce the good days and all that."

"We must."

With that she walked around the circle, ending at the head, where Arthur currently stood. Reaching his side she stepped in front of him, shutting out everyone else.

"I see you got my favorite drink." She whispered, her fingers seemingly drawn to his shoulder. Her perfect nails scratched on his starched shirt as she peered into his face with coy cat-eyes. He controlled his facial expression perfectly-because frankly, as alluring as her closeness and her cherry-blossom perfume was, deep down he couldn't help but not respect her.

"I did." He replied, his words muted as he struggled to keep their conversation to themselves. She smiled at him silently, her hand beginning to make a trail down his arm. His muscles tightened where she touched and he reached out, his hand gripping her wrist like iron. Her eyes dashed to his, smirking up at him, enjoying the game. His own eyes narrowed as he thrust her hand away.

"Well someone's not happy to see me."

"You could say that."

Another door slam-Arthur took the distraction gratefully, peering around Lacey to see Ariadne stride briskly into the lawn-chair circle. Her hair was down, the natural mix of mochas and caramels hiding her face from view. She wore a creamy long-sleeved white shirt dress with the design of a black blow across the front, ashy skinny jeans, black heeled boots, and a purple scarf. It was typical Ariadne-but it made his heart ache ever so briefly; for whom else was looking at her as well, but Cobb? Arthur looked away very quickly, meeting Lacey's curious gaze with his own. He expected her to speak, so he cut off any chance of her opening her mouth quickly: "Everyone's here. Time for you to take the spotlight." And with that, he brushed past her, sitting at the chair nearest to him.

Before Ariadne could sit, Cobb spoke up. "Ariadne-we're going to be going into your mind today." She stopped walking, half-way to the chair next to Eames. "So you will need to sit-" Cobb nodded at the chair nearest to Lacey and the whiteboard, "there. It's the chair nearest to the PASIV."

"Why me?"

"Just to see if you are rusty." At that Ariadne fixed Cobb with a gaze of utter fire-Cobb stared back coolly, obviously testing her patience openly somehow. Arthur struggled-what was he missing here? Cobb had said something he shouldn't have, something implied…

"Fine. Whatever is best." She murmured-and ignoring Lacey's presence altogether, sat in the chair with a heavy sigh. Lacey, not unlike a lioness eyeing her prey, scored her eyes up and down Ariadne's small form once before snatching the limelight, as usual. Stepping around so that she stood before the PASIV she faced Ariadne, smiling down on her like a petulant child.

"So, you are Ariadne?"

"Yes. You've heard of me?" Ariadne looked up, meeting Lacey's gleaming cat eyes with an emotionless mask. Frankly, Arthur had seen more sides of Ariadne in the past few days than he cared to admit-he'd seen her switch from furious to empty so many times it was practically routine. If he hadn't worked with her on the Inception job, he might be mistaken in assuming that those distasteful traits took up her personality.

"Why of course, dear!" Lacey fluttered her eyelashes, crossing her arms in a manner of one who has experienced more than the other. "Who hasn't heard the rumors of an architect better than the great Dominic Cobb?"

Cobb's eyes turned steely at his name, glancing up at Lacey with something along the lines of hatred. It wasn't until Cobb glanced back at the ground that Arthur realized the older man's gaze had been one of hatred because he wanted to _protect_ Ariadne. He felt as if Ariadne was being attacked by Lacey-and by all means, Arthur couldn't find an answer to defend her. Because anyway you looked at it, that's what Lacey was doing.

"Glad to know you've heard of me. I'm sorry-I can't say I know you though."

"Understandable. You're new. You'll learn in time."

Cobb growled under his breath, Arthur grit his teeth, Yusuf watched on curiously, and Eames was growing bored by the developing drama.

Lacey seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere, and is if flicking off a switch, she instantly warmed up. "I'm Lacey Bishop-nice to meet you." Her voice was cordial as she offered her hand to Ariadne, the long manicured nails gleaming in the sunlight from the few warehouse windows. Ariadne's mask slipped, her eyes widening in surprise.

Arthur almost wanted to reach out, to warn her that Lacey was just acting. That that's what she _does _and she should_ not _be trusted_. _But of course, Ariadne was angry at him and would no doubt despise his input so he said and did naught.

Ariadne leaned forward in order to shake the other woman's hand, barely wincing as her bullet wound curved with the movement. So Lacey wasn't the only woman who was an actor after all-because Arthur knew how much that wound had to hurt by now-it had to be burning as it healed by this point. He unconsciously kept staring at Ariadne as Yusuf slid the sedative into the PASIV, as she placed the needle into her arm-she barely winced at the sting, and Arthur half-wondered if being shot had increased her pain immunity.

During Inception she had struggled with the needles-now she slipped it under the skin easy, her arm only constricting the tiniest bit. As she glanced up, flipping the hair out of her face, pink lips wide open-Arthur couldn't help but notice how she looked waner than before, as if the needle had stolen necessary energy.

Lacey grabbed one of her lattes, sipped it, and placed it next to her chair, which was to the left of Eames and to the right of Ariadne. Seeing the team all unwinding the PASIV strings she followed suit, grabbing a string and tugging it to her seat. Cobb looked up one more time as the team laid down, needles inserted-Arthur turned his head to the side, glancing across Yusuf in order to see Ariadne. Her eyes were sliding shut as Cobb spoke, his voice rebounding off the walls.

"Lacey, tell us about the mark once we're in. Ariadne-take us anywhere."

The Extractor's voice fell in with Arthur everything gave way to shadow-the last thing he saw was Ariadne asleep, her face the clearest he'd seen in days.


	11. Part 8: Apathy Aftermath, Piece II

**~One of the longer chapters but…bear with me! I hope you enjoy, will update ASAP. Love all who read-MsArtemis~**

**Part 8-Apathy Aftermath, Piece II**

The air was cooler than she'd expected, as if it'd been in wait for her after all this time. It was the kind of surprise you expect from an old book-the dusty pages creak open, unfold, the words and textures jumping out at you in a rush of stiff air; the kind of sensation that a person will forever relish. Her footsteps echoed-she had no idea why she'd chosen this particular space, but, if she remembered correctly-Cobb had said anywhere. But this wasn't even technically a real place, though she wouldn't tell the team that. She'd _made_ this.

It was an adobe missionary that rose upon a grassy hill overlooking the waves. The sky was an unmatched, endless blue that reflected against the jovial sea. Long, rich yellow-green grasses caressed her calves through the fabric of her skinny jeans, (she'd decided to stick with the outfit she'd worn as she'd fallen asleep) the sun's heat comfortable as the breeze stroked her cheeks. Turning her back on the scenery, she decided to explore her little abandoned abbey.

The creamy adobe brick meshed softly with the warm browns of the tiled roof; fuchsia roses and jade ivy climbed the walls, the spots of color adding life to the already bright building. Open arches stood in front of her now-the arches displayed a hallway that led deeper inside the mission-and since she was itching to explore her creation she went down the brick hallway and to the garden. She seemed to forget that the rest of the team would appear there soon enough.

She'd drawn this in class one day-Professor Miles had caught sight of it, shaken his head and walked away, continuing his lecture without pause. From the outside, the abbey was normal enough, sure. But these were dreams-and she wasn't bound to waste the creative space. The hallway led to a crosswalk that led in four directions-she smiled, remembering where to go so easily she yearned to laugh out loud. Taking the straight path she made towards the garden.

The garden lay in the center of the abbey-it was designed to be the heart, the one place where you'd end up no matter which direction you turned. The tunnel finally opened up-and there was the garden. It was a square, really, surrounded by hallways that led to various other places. Balconies overlooked it from each cardinal direction-there was no roof however, and the sun leaked down and made the whole place glitter. It was full of every type of flower and/or plant she could think of-the colors were enriched several degrees higher than normally, making her eyes burn. In the middle of the garden was a pool that noiselessly rippled, the surface smooth and translucent. Smirking Ariadne allowed herself to reach out and touch the hard surface of the nearest tulip, her smirk fading into awe at its texture.

What made this not an ordinary abbey was the random places that ended up appearing normal, but weren't. The garden was no exception-for it was made entirely out of glass. Each leaf, petal, piece of grass-it was smooth, watery glass.

"Beautiful-but not quite original."

Eames stood at the tunnel entrance, stepping out of the shadows as she turned towards him. The sunlight cradled his gleaming white grin, the sparks behind his green-blue eyes. He wore a careless, white button-up shirt and black suspenders. It gave him the total appearance of a school boy; Ariadne restrained the impulse to reprimand him for not being in class.

"Really? Well, what do you suggest Mr. Eames?"

Hands in his pockets he strode to her side, towering over her rather unconsciously as he looked around, the sea breeze ruffling his tawny hair.

"Maybe a secret passageway of some sort-something to spice the place up-"

Until that moment, the hallway across from them had been empty. Now Arthur slipped out of the obscurity of the hall's cool shadows, allowing the sun to stretch across the dark outfit he'd worn to sleep. Hands in his pockets he stepped into the golden glow of the garden, allowing it to swallow him completely. Ariadne's mouth dried temporarily-for he was taking on the appearance of the Arthur she couldn't begin to understand. The Arthur who looked as if he was made out of shadows, starlight, and mystery-that deep semblance of knowledge, stealth, and power that brought up pictures of panthers. And, ever so quietly, she allowed the thought to slip into her mind, allowed it to form-the single whisper that dictated that he was absolutely beautiful.

His chocolate brown gaze met hers as he reached them, standing before them both. Almost immediately Ariadne could feel the kiss of heat in her cheeks that signaled a blush-but this was a dream, she could control anything. So she solidly hoped, that as she threw her eyes to the frozen grass beneath their feet, that the blush disappeared.

Eames caught on, his eyes passing between the two of them quickly before completing his sentence. "And more things that meet the 'more than meets the eye' quota and all that." Ariadne's head jerked upward at the 'more than meet the eye' reference-she met Eames laughing eyes-oh, yes, he had definitely just seen that whole moment and, oh most certainly, was he attempting to play it up. It made her feel cornered somehow, so she lashed out accordingly.

"Do you always sneak out like that?" she accused, crossing her arms as she fixed her glare on the Point-Man.

"It appeared as if you two were talking. I didn't want to interrupt." He was so smooth when he talked-it was if nothing affected him, absolutely nothing. It was singly the most irritating thing Ariadne had ever experienced in her entire 24 years.

"We were. And too bad, you did interrupt it."

"I did not. You stopped talking when I entered. Not my fault."

"Not your fault? Why don't you just make an entrance next time instead of being creeping i-"

"Children, children must we, really-" Eames had stepped in between them, arms raised as if in surrender, when Cobb strode in, concerned.

"Arguing on the job? You two had no problems during Inception." He came to Arthur's side, his golden hair and tux emanating a glow.

"Things were different during Inception. Maybe having your kids on the line made it different for them." Yusuf mused, his hair blown ebony as he came to a stop on Ariadne's right. Ariadne was growing extremely embarrassed-how many people were speculating on her and Arthur's relationship? There was nothing, never would be anything-it was so obvious a blind bat could've figured out. Why people continued to insist there was anything there…Ariadne's ranting was cut off.

"Really, Arthur, from what I knew about you, you weren't one to cause fights often, especially while working. This is something new…" Lacey slid out of the darkness of the hallways like a snake-Ariadne's mouth fell open at the sheer beauty. Lacey hurt the eyes-her hair was the color of burning embers, her eyes the color of the ocean. She was wearing the same outfit as before-but the garden seemed to set it alive, making the dress swirl nonsensically around her, the turquoise fabric rippling like waves. Unlike in reality, however, her hair was down, the long, silky, flaming curls allowed to wander where they pleased. Oh she was absolutely gorgeous-some vengeful angel that Arthur had once known…

"Very bad-boy." She crooned-she passed Arthur so casually, allowing her fingers to skim the length of his shoulders. Arthur stiffened very discreetly as her hand dropped off, her smile dripping poison as she hissed: "I like." Ariadne's heart skipped as Arthur turned, looking Lacey in the face with burning eyes. Their faces were so near, the tension so tight you could hear the whole group breathing. Why were Arthur's eyes burning? Was it because there was something there, still? That him and Lacey were never finished, never had been and that whole kiss on the Inception job was just what it was, work. A way to finish the job, nothing more-but was Lacey really the only one who could make him feel?

Because the way he was looking at her now-there was most certainly emotion there, something Ariadne rarely ever saw when she was with him. And her heart sunk as it occurred to her, that Lacey was the only one who could make him feel anything. Why _her_? Why was _Lacey_ the one to make ice turn into kindling flame? Why was it _this_ woman, of all of them? The one who was undeniably one of the prettiest things anyone had ever laid eyes on-Ariadne was mud in comparison. And why was this even bothering her? If there was something there still, it was none of her business whatsoever. It still scorched her-and it was about at that moment that Ariadne decided that she didn't like Lacey, and she wouldn't attempt to change her opinion. And, of course, this decision had nothing, absolutely, positively- _nothing_ to do with Arthur.

Arthur turned away from Lacey-she nodded curtly, her smile snide as she wandered to Eames' shoulder, which happened to be at the head of the circle. Eames stepped aside, joining the outer circle-and just like that she was the center of the attention.

"Who's the mark?" Cobb demanded, peering at Lacey with surprising distaste. This comforted Ariadne-she briefly had the childish urge to run to his side, and hug him-he didn't like Lacey, he could see through her too. She was not alone in this.

Lacey regarded Cobb with respect-it was a look that was foreign on her, and Ariadne found herself briefly wondering if her judgment on the woman was too harsh.

"The mark is Andres Hernadez. He's an Arms Dealer from Cuba that…let's just say knows people." Her eyes glittered in excitement at this-she waved her hand dramatically as she continued, receiving a raised eyebrow from Ariadne. The rest of the team stared on blankly, unsurprised, as they had met Lacey before.

"His business is quite successful. Lately, however, it has been going downhill. He has an…obstacle blocking him from reaching the top."

"What would that be?" Ariadne heard herself ask.

Lacey glanced at Ariadne, scouring her up and down twice-and seeing that she was not enough of a threat, Lacey moved on with hardly the flick of an eyelash.

"He has a weed addiction." She announced. "His father introduced him to it at a young age. He's very much struggling to make ends meet due to the fact it's overtaking his life…he can't seem to stop spending outrageous amounts of money in order to get exactly what he wants. And, in order to stay on top in Cuba…he's hired us, to get rid of the addiction completely."

Ariadne's eyes widened, her lower lip opening and shutting despite herself. She had not expected this whatsoever. A weed addiction? And they were expected to…deal with it?

"And you would know how to do this?" Arthur broke the temporary silence, his voice summing up the teams questions.

"Of course, Arthur." She smirked at him. "Just like I told you over the phone."

Arthur stared at Lacey with a mixed expression-his eyes screamed out loud something Lacey was obviously ignoring yet his lips stayed straight and tight. Lacey made the phone call sound personal…Ariadne's stomach sunk at the thought. A reoccurring pattern was showing up; she was just a child to everyone. A newbie, a plaything, something to constantly protect; something to ignore, something that wasn't every inch of the woman she knew she was. And Ariadne-all this staring, and the thought of the job ahead-it was overwhelming.

Without another care she strode toward the pond in the center of the garden, the shards of grass gentle beneath her boots. This was her dream after all-she didn't have to stick around and watch Lacey and Arthur's moments. Pausing by the pool edge she cast a glance over her shoulder; the whole team was watching her, seemingly questioning her sanity. Cobb stared on-his eyes growing concerned as her foot slipped, crystal rocks slipping into the clear water without a sound. He took a step in her direction, his eyes widening briefly-Ariadne felt a pang of sympathy for him. Was her being so close to the edge reminding him of Mal on the hotel roof? The way she hadn't let out a warning, merely letting her whisper float on the air: _"If I fall…will I die?"_

"Ariadne-"he began, his voice dripping lavender honey. The sympathy wore on her heart, and so she turned to Arthur, who stood nearest. He was looking around Lacey, his chocolate brown eyes fathomless. Hearing her name on Cobb's tongue his gaze switched from the Extractor back to Ariadne-she could almost see the gears click in his mind, could see him catching on to Cobb's fear.

"Ariadne-"

Eames cut the both of them off: "Oh, you two Ariadne's a smart girl she's probably just-"

Lacey flipped her glossy hair over one shoulder, her sea-foam eyes locking with Ariadne's as she placed her hands on Arthur's chest, the nails making a scritch noise on the crisp fabric. Ariadne stayed frozen for a long moment, fire setting her face into a temporary snarl. Arthur, distracted, glanced down at Lacey sharply as she continued to stare at the Architect, challenging her. And, fed up, and somehow feeling caged-Ariadne turned her back on all of them and stepped onto the surface of the pool.

Like real water, it swallowed her up-and then she was falling. One second she could feel sunrays, taste the salt of the sea, and hear Cobb cursing…and then there was the absence of all sound, a silence as she plummeted downward. Closing her eyes she counted the beats of her heart, ignoring the way the wind seemed to scream her name…she'd known this would be frightening. She'd designed this part as well.

With a thump and the stench of dirt Ariadne's back hit stone. Coughing aloud she rolled to the side, waiting till the fit subsided before getting to her feet. As soon as she stood she was concerned-she could have hurt herself even further…but when she looked down could feel no bandage underneath her shirt, no eating-alive sensation that the bullet wound normally gave her. This was her world-she made the rules. She knew she shouldn't enjoy dreaming this much-somewhere deep down, she knew this was as much as a problem as Cobb made it out to be. But in this dream…she pulled back the sleeve of her left arm, exposing the winter-pale skin ever briefly-no pink puncture wounds existed-so she didn't have a problem.

It was when she finally slid her sleeve back down and glanced around that her breath caught. Beneath the pond she had designed a chapel. She had spent most of her effort on the room-it had taken her countless hours to get the details right and she had been so looking forward to taking in the spotless arches, stained glass, and the projections that served as church-goers…

Instead, there was something else. The slate grey stone beneath her boots was covered in layers of brown dirt-grime and ivy decorated the peaked, once colorful windows, throwing the entire room into eerie shadow. The whole place was bare-save for the altar and the mosaic cross that lay above it. And to make matters worse, she was absolutely alone-there was not a single projection to bustle about, no stirring or noise of any sort. It was the kind of silence that perches upon ones shoulders, waiting for the opportune moment to make its weight unbearable... As she gazed around, an awful, familiar feeling crept upon her; the feeling that this hadn't gone as planned.

Arthur thought she was onto something, Cobb knew she couldn't stop dreaming for a reason-they just had no idea why. They had no idea how this feeling haunted almost everyone of her dreams now, how she'd appear and things would be out of place or crumble as soon as she arrived…and the things she'd hear and see. She shivered; this stomach-sinking feeling-it was almost enough to make her want to turn around and run. But as it was, her curiosity was stronger than most metals, so it was with that she called out: "Hello?"

The words seemed to activate something-she didn't have time to scream as all the windows and doors flew open, the dust flying out at her like greedy fingers-and then she was somewhere.

_The white tile floor gleamed brightly-until now the projections were so busy they couldn't pay attention. But now, of course, they were staring. Their glares were menacing, empty-it stole the light of intelligence from their eyes, a hint that they were not really human. _

"_They're still staring."_

_She felt him next to her, the heat from his body wafting onto hers-_wait, hadn't this happened? What was going on-

"_Quick, give me a kiss." _

_Her heart leapt in her throat nearly killing her; in a half second she was peering into his chocolate brown eyes. They were on fire, intent on the kill…she leaned forward quickly, allowing her lips to brush his. Just a simple kiss-but she found herself slipping for control. The taste of his lips was something fresh-of course it would be, it was Arthur-like mint; and she found herself wanting to take this further, her muscles relaxing…_she should be pulling away by now. She'd done this before, this was the part where she broke the connection and he said something witty that ended it completely…

_His hand slid across, landing on her knee, his fingertips shooting electricity through her body. His lips became fierce-he pressed his body to hers urgently, forgetting about the projections entirely…her hands flew to his face, grasping it as she met him with a fury of her own-_this wasn't happening. This didn't happen. This _wasn't_ going as planned…_his tongue slid across her lower lip, begging for entrance_-this wasn't going as planned. This was wrong. _Arthur was smart-this wasn't something he'd do when they needed this whole thing to pull off._ _She didn't give him the entrance he'd asked for-she yanked her head away, gasping: "Arthur-" _

_He retracted his hand as she stared at him, as she was left breathing heavily. He wasn't-he wasn't breathing at all, his hand was sliding into his pocket, his gaze shadowy, hostile even; his hand pulled away with a handgun. Ariadne didn't have time to say anything as the tip pressed against her temple, the frosty metal searing the skin…_

"_What do you know?" His face was so close to hers-but his eyes were black, empty holes. _

"_How much have you seen?" He demanded, his voice not unlike an infuriated python-it slid into her ears, the anger palpable. _

_A stab of fear struck her so hard and fast it left her shaking, her hands drawing inward to her lap as he pressed the gun harder, the metal biting her skin with a delicious vengeance. _

"_You can't kill me. It'll only wake me up." _

_A frightening grin gave way to a malicious laugh that set her on edge._

"_Yeah, that's true. But this'll mess you up for sure. Now-" He clicked the safety off with one, slim finger-she wanted to scream, goddammit-they were not in the garden, where he was beautiful-they were not in the Second Level of Inception, where he was professional-because wherever they were now…he was her worst nightmare. She breathed in shallowly, forcing herself to remain calm._

"_why don't you tell me what you've seen? You know too much, you see, and you don't seem to want to stop…"_

_He trailed off, waiting for an answer-that didn't come. With an exaggerated sigh he looked away-his profile was straight, to the point-God, it was Arthur, it seemed so much like him…whatever the hell he was. _

_Whipping around to face her again, he seemed stronger-his hand tightened on the weapon, his eyes an incinerating coal-she leapt for an answer, her voice steady, if not quieter._

"_I don't know what you're talking about-"_

"_Yes you do!" He was growing irritated, his voice having risen to a pitch she'd never heard before. "You know her. You've seen her." Ariadne struggled to grasp his meaning as her eyes dashed around for an escape. The whole place was empty-it was just her and Arthur on the second level of the Inception job, on the bench. _

"_I've seen you and him…I was told you knew about her. That he'd told you about her…" He seemed doubtful for a moment before he grew exasperated, muttering quickly "I'm getting nothing from you…"_

_But now she knew: her lungs clamped as she finally understood who this 'her' was and she desperately scrambled for coherency. _

"_She's dead! She's been de-"She knew her voice was rising on panic; his reply was ironically low and quiet in comparison. _

"_We know that, Ariadne." Her palms began to sweat in her lap, her stomach dropping as her name crossed his lips. Oh, God, it knew her. He almost seemed sickingly amused, his grin bordering on insane as his eyes leapt like dancing flames. The metal pushed against her skull once again-her eyes flashed to the gun and then to his face. His dark orbs sparkled-and he smirked-Arthur's smirk!-as he murmured: "Sweet dreams."_

As the bullet ripped through her head, Arthur's smirk swimming before her eyes, she was sure that somewhere far away, she could hear a glass garden breaking into a million pieces…


	12. Part 9: Mirror, Mirror

**Part 9: Mirror, Mirror **

_-Seconds before waking-_

It had been several minutes and Ariadne still hadn't surfaced. He was growing increasingly concerned-as the team idly chatted about the mark Cobb kept finding his eyes wandering to the pond. It was a single slate of clear glass that looked as if it had been freshly cut, no edges discernible from where he stood. She had just jumped-after looking at Arthur of course, and that ached with a surprising force…of course they belonged together…so why did he even care? Maybe because Arthur was being absolutely atrocious to her-he'd seen her face when Lacey lay against him like some pathetic ragdoll. He'd seen the flash of pain in her copper eyes, the snarl she couldn't take back-she didn't deserve that. She deserved to be respected, at the very least, for her extraordinary talent-for being her. He stopped his thoughts right there, for this didn't sound right…what the hell was wrong with him? He was questioning his Point-Man, the one team member he was supposed to trust most-and was putting too much faith in Ariadne for her to just be a coworker.

But did he want that? Did he want everything between them to be more than colleagues? Did he want to give her everything he had left, entrust her with all his secrets?

Shaking his head, Cobb rubbed his stubbly cheek, examining the crystal grass beneath his feet.

"Arthur-" The name was cut off with a huff of air-Cobb glanced up to see Lacey farther away from Arthur than before, looking up at him with an air of betrayal. Eames appeared to be amused, his smile barely kept under control, and Yusuf watched on, faithful as always.

Lacey took in a huge breath of air, gasping out: "What is your problem?"

Arthur was the angriest Cobb had ever seen him, his eyes burning like hellfire, pale hands unclenching and clenching by his sides.

"I'm not the one who has the problem, Lacey."

Lacey rolled her eyes, replying with: "Obviouslyyy. That little architect's the one who has problems-"

Arthur was there so fast Cobb hardly saw him move-but all of a sudden he was in Lacey's face, staring her down viciously. "Don't go there." he growled. Lacey stared up at him, fear skipping across her face like a pebble thrown into a puddle. Her silence seemed to only invigorate him further-he murmured, "Come with me." Before turning and stalking off into the direction of one of the hallways. As the shadows engulfed him she remained frozen for a prolonged moment-before her face turned to ice, all the sharp edges seeming to stand out as she followed him into the hallway.

"There you go again, always trying to _control_ me-"As soon as the pair was in the hallway, it seemed as if they had left the earth. No noise interrupted the silence that lay across the garden, the remaining team members the only witnesses to the argument.

But once again, Cobb found his eyes wandering to the pond. Eames began to speak-the word quiet was most definitely not in his vocabulary. "Well. I'm hoping you two aren't into cat-fighting; I think I've seen enough for today." The snarky comment was followed by an awkward silence-Cobb's eyes dashed to the pond again-this time Eames saw it.

Striding to the Extractor's side Eames threw a friendly hand on his shoulder. Cobb's eyes snapped up, meeting Eames' gaze.

"She'll be back. She's not the kind to harm herself, too strong-spirited." Cobb eyed Eames friendly self up and down before looking at the pond again; yes, he knew she was strong-spirited. "I know that." He murmured. "But she was emotionally unstable-you know as well as I do that emotions can affect dreams." He met Eames gaze again, his eyes a deadly sapphire-Eames nodded, dropping his hand. Cobb looked at the pond for the millionth time-Eames regarded the Extractor with a wise moss-green gaze.

"You and Arthur are causing quite a storm, ya know. Really tearing the poor thing up."

Cobb's heart seemed to go on pause as he turned on Eames, his words flinty.

"What do you mean?" Eames ignored the hint of danger in Cobb's voice, continuing fluidly.

"Oh, come on. It's not a secret-"

This was too much for Cobb-he snapped almost instantly under the weight of Eames implication.

"There is no secret Eames. And I suggest you stop looking for one because you are not going to find any. This is a team of professionals and I suggest you start acting like one."

Eames seemed genuinely surprised-he stepped away from Cobb, his hands raised in the surrender gesture that was becoming routine for him.

"I'm just-"

Eames was suddenly silenced by Yusuf, who ran over to them, alarmed. Amber eyes wild he pointed to the hallway Lacey and Arthur had entered. "Something's going on, look-"

Cobb peered around Yusuf just in time to see a crack spreading across the surface of the grass, flying across the garden to the other side; Eames cursed under his breath as the sun went dark, as the sound of the ocean faded away to naught.

"What's happening?" whispered Yusuf; the color was rapidly fading away from the garden, the brilliance draining out, leaving grey crystal behind.

"The dream's ending." Cobb murmured-and then, without warning, everything exploded.

Chips, shards, circles of glass flew at them from every direction, thousands of pieces flying downward as the dream folded in on itself. He only witnessed the deadly beauty for a few seconds before a wave of sea-glass smacked him in the face.

Pulse flying, Dominic Cobb's sapphire eyes slid open. The only memory of his death was the pounding of his temple where the glass had hit-it throbbed as he sat up, as his eyes searched for Ariadne. What could possibly have made the dream collapse? As he regained balance, the effects of the somacin that lay in the PASIV fading off with a swirl, he found the words tumbling from his mouth.

"What happened?" The question seemed to reignite his senses-his vision was restored to crystal clarity around the same moment his hearing returned. It was at that moment that he finally saw Ariadne-she lay bent over in her lawn chair, head in her hands. Arthur knelt at her side-his hand resorting to removing the needle from her arm. As he attempted to extract the slim silver piece she slapped his hand away, a slight sob wrenching from her throat as she did so. Neither of them had realized she was this upset; Cobb leant forward the same time Arthur spoke:

"The dream is over, Ariadne. Its okay now-"

"I'm FINE, Arthur." Her voice was shaky-to be honest Cobb had never seen her torn-up; he never ever wanted to see her like this-on the border of tears and breaking down-ever again. She was still bent over, her chocolaty locks hiding her face from view. Arthur covered up his surprise at her sharp comment quickly, once again taking a shot at reason.

"Ariadne, you're shaking. That's not my definition of fine, and-"

"Arthur-" she sat up, her face now exposed before them-her tawny eyes glittered with a frosty mix of unshed tears and fury. She stared at the Point-Man for one long moment before giving up.

"Forget it." Her voice was low, broken-the anger in her eyes gave way to confusion before she dropped her gaze, hurriedly reaching her feet. Arthur's jaw tightened, a sure signal of stress as he straightened with cat-like grace, watching as she brushed down her outfit. She glanced up at him for a mere second before looking back down, brushing past him and heading for the exit at a furious pace. Arthur stayed frozen for one moment, looking down on the place where she had left with a disbelieving smirk. As her honed footsteps began moving farther away Arthur seemed to regain some semblance of control and turned to witness her exit.

"Ariadne-" Cobb couldn't help saying it-he wanted to know what was going on as well. She paused at the back door, her hand on the metal handle, facing the Extractor from a distance.

"Cobb, I'm sorry the dream collapsed. I'll do better tomorrow-"Cobb, at his feet now, reached Arthur's side, his gaze cautious as he took in Ariadne. He hadn't meant that at all and he was ready to leap into an explanation but Arthur seemed to be in a strange mood tonight.

"This part of town is worse during this hour. Just let me take you to your car-"

"I can handle it, Arthur-"

"I'm just suggesting." Arthur supplemented-his voice was harder underneath however, as if he too was getting annoyed with all the arguments he'd been through today.

Ariadne opened her mouth to retort but Cobb stepped in quickly.

"Ariadne-"His voice was at its most soothing and factual in his hopes to appeal to her good side. At Arthurs' questioning glance, Cobb met it with an all-knowing gaze as if to say: 'I got this.' He turned back to the Architect once more- her eyes were gratefully on him, their icy appearance softening at his tone. "This part of town is shady during this time of evening. It would be better if you had someone to escort you to your car, at the very least. I would even say to your apartment door-just as a safety precaution. You never know who's out there."

By now the rest of the team was waking-Lacey arrived from the back part of the warehouse, where she'd undoubtedly been peering into a compact for some time-Yusuf was gathering up his materials and muttering while Eames was strode up with a simper.

She regarded Cobb gentler now, as if she was honestly considering his proposal. Arthur stared on, his face dead-Cobb knew his partner well, knew that this was his way of covering up all that lay underneath. With another hardening over of her eyes she nodded, raising her voice so that Arthur could hear her response:

"Then you can take me home, Cobb."


	13. Part 10: Imbalance

**~Reviews would be awesome! If you like it, hate it, want something changed, or have a question? Just review. I will read every single one and take it into serious consideration. Tell me what you think! Enjoy.-MsArtemis~**

**Part 10: Imbalance **

It had been an hour and 45 minutes since Cobb and Ariadne had left for Ariadne's apartment.

And Arthur thought he was going to be sick.

"God, Arthur never knew you'd have such a big place. Where the hell do I put my stuff?"

Lacey, in all her finery and with suitcases at her feet, stood in the open door of Arthur's lavish temporary home. He had rented it from a friend who was spending several months away-he was supposed to take good care of it and he planned to keep it that way. However, at the moment, he lacked the energy to reprimand Lacey for scuffing the marble flooring with her bags.

"Upstairs, first bedroom on the left." He muttered. Lacey threw a disgusted glance in his direction, taking in his weather beaten appearance. He couldn't even fathom what she saw-God knows he was good at covering up everything. But she could seemingly get a picture from his stance; at the moment he was sitting, having stolen a stool from the kitchen. He was also bent over, head in both hands, black shoe-d feet on the floor-the posture of a weakened man. He could feel the little color in his face as his stomach rolled, as he wearily looked up and met her eyes-the previous disgust was gone, now replaced with some softer shade of turquoise.

"Thank you, Arthur, for this. I'm sorry I'm such a bother."

His stomach clenched-because for one moment he'd thought she would've had seen something past herself, maybe cared about the reason he was this way. But no, everything came around and back to her like some freakish boomerang. But, that was Lacey. And he couldn't help but pity her despite it all. Straightening up he brushed down his outfit, reaching his feet. "It's not any trouble. Just set an alarm-we're heading to the ware-house at one."

Lacey briefly faked hurt: "Is an alarm really necessary for me, Arthur?" She placed a hand over her heart, her smile glowing. He had been walking the hallway to the kitchen when he heard her, pausing and turning around just to flash a tired smile.

"For you? Yes."

She interpreted the banter as a step forward in a parade of steps backward; he took it as further evidence to why they went wrong and soon found himself amid the darker memories of their past relationship.

With Lacey upstairs the house was a deadly silent he could not push away, so he continued on his way down the hall. The kitchen yielded temporary relief; it was modern and sleek, the appliances shining with a tin glow. There were stools rather than chairs at the long dinner table-he found the idea tacky though the owner thought of it as modern. At the far corner of the oven his hand found the whiskey he usually replaced with red wine-he swore that he would pay his friend back as slim fingers unscrewed the cap, found a glass…it was when the golden liquid was pouring seamlessly into the shot glass that his pocket buzzed. A quick glance at the clock over the oven- his stomach flipped as he registered: _an hour and fifty five minutes_. He set the bottle down gently, the glass clinking against the marble crisply. With a kind of tragic grace he slipped the Blackberry out, allowing it to flip face-up. COBB flashed across the screen-for a moment he had the illogical feeling of just slamming his thumb on the end button; he overcame it.

Having accepted it he found a text that left little else to be said:

_I think you should come talk to her right now. Be gentle._

The wood of her door seemed serrated as he rapped twice, pulling his hand back tersely to his side. Over two hours now, they'd been alone together-_alone_. He allowed himself to inhale, the air whistling through his teeth. He didn't have long to wait-the door opened to reveal two navy eyes gleaming in the shadows of the apartment.

"You came."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Just thought you might be researching the mark."

Arthur was temporarily taken aback-that was exactly what he would have been doing if he wasn't worrying…why had Cobb noticed before him? He nodded instead of speaking-Cobb grinned softly, stepping out of the way in order for Arthur to pass him and into the apartment.

The whole place was in darkness-but Arthur soon saw the open crack of the bedroom door, the silvery light that spanned away from it…

"She's been through a lot-I'll expect you to take care of her." At the command Arthur looked over his shoulder-Cobb was in the hallway, his hand on the doorknob, eyes tight. Arthur nodded, vaguely wondering what she could have said that would have Cobb's concern riled up this way. In a moment Cobb was gone, the door swinging shut on his retreating footsteps…Arthur made his way to her room.

As he approached the crack in the door he was aware of slight sniffling, the sound of a pencil scritching over parchment… "Ariadne?" he called.

The pencil came to a stop: "Come in."

With a deep breath that trailed all the way down to his Italian shoes he stepped inside, making sure to leave the door open a crack as he looked around.

Her bed was still the only feature to the room, minus the one light bulb that hung from the ceiling. It radiated watery light, casting the whole room into a mix of grays and pitch blacks. The white sheets (which had previously contained drips of scarlet) had been discarded-all that lay there now was a plain white mattress on a wooden frame. The white pillows were still intact, considering that they had not been spattered with gore…he reached into his pocket, gripping the red die in a tight fist. She seemed irately casual, sitting cross legged, sketchpad in hand. As his eyes flew to the drawing he caught sight of angry, lead streaks before it slammed shut. Combing a wavy strand of hair behind her ear she took a deep breath, brushing down her red pajama bottoms and white T-shirt twice.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, raising one eyebrow at her unusual unkempt appearance. He couldn't seem to fathom why he was called here-it seemed beyond him-It was infuriating. Did she want to talk about her…and Cobb? Oh, God, please not that.

She seemed to shake herself awake-pushing the sketchpad and pencil aside she began to reach her feet, apologizing.

"Sorry you have to see me like this Arthur, I-Cobb just felt that we should, I don't-"

Something snapped inside his chest-before she could fully reach her feet he spoke.

"You can sit, Ariadne its fine by me."

"Alright…"She met his eyes with a quizzical expression before sitting back down, her legs hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Sensing the awkwardness he, as professionally as he could, sat next to her, the mattress sagging slightly under his weight and crinkling his suit. "Cobb said that we should what?"

His voice was lower, though he hadn't intended it to be that way-he saw out of the corner of his eye her muscles tightening-a nervous reaction…but to what? To him sitting next to her?

They had sat next to each other at the bench in the second level of the Inception job…did that make her uncomfortable? Remembering their kiss? His overanalyzing was brought to a quick halt as she began to speak.

"He said that we should talk."

He tried to think rationally, in the lines: "About what?"

Did she want to know about her near death? Did she want to know how the tears had come, despite all his efforts to stop them? Did she want to know how he had cut her open, sewed her back up while she had laid so still…because he wanted to tell her. For some sick reason he wanted to put it all out on the table; randomly he wondered if this is what Eames felt like every time he gambled. But of course, that wasn't the case.

"About why the dream collapsed. How it collapsed, really because there's not much explanation for it…" She took a shaky breath, her fingers combing back a strand of long hair up and over her forehead. He watched the action with hard eyes-what was this getting too, what was making her act like this…?

"What happened? Whatever it is its most likely fixable." He reassured, noticing her hands in her lap, gripped together, palm to palm as if she was trying desperately to keep still.

She turned towards him, her caramel eyes wide and harsh as she stated:

"You shot me, Arthur." The utter honesty of the words shocked him-the prickling fury he saw in her eyes made sense in a way that made his stomach turn to stone.

"That's not possible."

"Yes it is. You exited the group with Lacey, Cobb told me, and then you just find me somehow and threaten me, pull the gun out on me…I mean, how could you-"

Her voice was rising to hysteria and he suddenly found himself scrambling. Her words seemed to have knocked him back several feet, all sense of his careening out the window.

"I didn't, Ariad-"

"Then explain!" She was full on glaring at him now, her words so raw that he opened up, despite everything.

"Lacey and I argued in that hallway the whole time!" Ariadne blinked, her glare broken by his surprise answer.

He lowered his voice; looking away from her his eyes met the blank wall on the other side.

"She's dramatic sometimes and I didn't want…her drama to be thrown at you in the way she was doing it. She's used to being the center of attention but I told her that harming you in any fashion wouldn't get her anything." He allowed himself to pause, the only sound in the room the Architect's breathing; he didn't dare meet her eyes as he moved on.

"She was very persistent, saying that I was attempting to control her like I apparently used to, back when we…were together."

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes the color serious-did she know? But she just nodded, adding: "I knew that."

He accepted the fact with little surprise, like how Eames couldn't keep his mouth shut for the entire world, and then met gazes with the wall once more.

"She kept insisting that I had to stop using her…and you."

"Me? Lacey defended me?" Arthur, paused, keeping his eyes focused on the wall. Letting his defenses down, even in the slightest manner, was extremely difficult for him. His pause made her repeat the question.

He relented. "Not exactly. You see she thinks-"

For once he met her eyes, trying to control his racing heart as her eyes peered into his own.

"That you and I…"

"Have something?" She finished.

"Yes. Exactly." He gasped, forever grateful for her response alone.

Her eyes were dangerous-they kept studying his face relentlessly, as if searching for any new developments.

"And I told her that she was mistaken, that anything that she must have seen was merely a slightly friendly work relationship and nothing more." His stomach was something heavier than stone at the moment-ice, maybe?-sinking as his words continued to stream out. Ariadne's face fell at his statement-she turned away very quickly, a sheet of hair hiding her from view. Arthur saw it all wrong-even though his heart was aching and his stomach falling he leapt at the chance to comfort her.

"I'll apologize for her behavior. I know she would too, if she were here, because she knows she behaved awfully…she just doesn't know when to stop-" He caught himself, ending the sentence abruptly there, but Ariadne heard it.

"When to stop what?" She murmured, her head still away from him.

"It's nothing." He didn't want to tell her this, he just didn't. It was personal.

"It's not nothing, Arthur, just tell me."

He sighed loudly before responding. "She won't stop trying to get me back. To get _us_ back."

There was a long pause in which Ariadne stared at her feet, which hung off the floor by at least 3 inches. She kept her gaze on them as they lazily swung back and forth, a restrained yet nervous gesture.

"How serious were you two?"

Arthur cursed himself mentally-he swore he turned into Eames more everyday, never keeping his own mouth shut. But Ariadne was the only person he ever wanted to be completely honest to-and he wasn't going to attempt to hide it.

"Serious enough that we moved in together. For a brief amount of time we were living in an apartment in Venice."

"How long had you two been together when you moved in?" Arthur noted how careful she was not to say _Arthur_ and _Lacey_. He also noted how her voice kept getting softer with each question-she was almost whispering now. His answers sounded booming in comparison.

"A year. We broke up 3 months after moving in…I left the apartment." He glanced at the floor, recalling that night very vividly.

"_You always have to be in control don't you? You always have to know what's right, what's wrong, how everything is. When are you going to get out of your box, Arthur?"_

"_I'm done." He murmured. She stared on in disbelief, her ginger hair lying rumpled across the shoulder straps of her nightgown. "What did you say?" His hands were already whisking away his suits, his ties, his shoes, his toiletries…_

"_What the fuck do you think you're doing Arthur-"_

"_I'm leaving, Lacey. I'm absolutely done." His statement was cold-he made it especially biting as he met her eyes. "I'm sick of you." _

"_Oh really-" He bent down in order to continue packing, zipping up his bag as if she had never spoken. "Oh really?" she screeched after him as he passed through their kitchen, heading for the front door. She stalked him relentlessly, picking up a piece of the china set they had bought together on the way out. Without another thought she flung it at his head-he heard the sharp sound of its travel and ducked just in time for it to hit the door. He turned towards her incredulously, a few feet away from where the plate shards now lay. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she screamed, her turquoise eyes not unlike tsunami waves. His silence seemed to make it worse; her screams grew in progression._

"_There is something seriously wrong with you- I know what it is-MY life hasn't been as exciting as yours. I didn't have to deal with MY mom dying and leaving behind a piss-poor excuse of a father so I'm just not experienced enough, I'm too OPEN-"_

_Arthur was beyond furious, his face a deathly pallor as he glared at her, his hands fists."THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT! What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you?"_

"_YOU ARE, ARTHUR! You are the most closed off, prim-proper person I have ever met."_

"_That's funny because last night you certainly didn't seem to think so-"_

"_You think that was something, Arthur? I've had better from-"_

"_Oh, from who? Absolutely no one Lacey because no one puts up with YOUR shit like I do. Absolutely no one."_

The memory didn't get to run its course-Ariadne slammed the rest of it away with her next question, locking it in a box like it was supposed to be.

"So she still has feelings for you?"

"I would assume so-but you can never be sure with her. She likes to play games."

And, surprise of all surprises, Ariadne laughed. Giggled really, turning her head to face him (finally) saying:

"I could've guessed that. She and Eames are a lot alike. Is that why you and Eames don't get along? Because you and Lacey didn't get along?"

Arthur smiled at her, appreciating the subject change as well as the pleasure he found in her smile. "No, me and Eames were sworn enemies as soon as we met. He made some crack about parents and I-" It was at this point, that Arthur realized he had gone too deep. His grin fell flat, his eyes emptying as he backtracked. "I didn't respond well to it."

She noted his changing faces with sympathy, her voice silky as she asked:

"If it's okay, could you tell me how you two met? And about your parents?"

He met her open eyes with caution, trying to tell her that he couldn't silently-but she seemed to want an answer.

"Maybe later."

He already regretted saying it; he regretted it more seconds later when she responded.

"You will have to tell me later you know. I'm never going to let you get away with not telling me."

He was smiling-he hadn't smiled like this in so long his face literally ached-how did she do this to him?

"Really? And how would you make me?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth popping open in mock surprise.

"I have my ways Mr. Arthur." She wiggled her eyebrows while glancing up from underneath her eyelashes-she didn't know what stuff like that did to him. In fact, she probably didn't want to know…

"Really? Because I don't break under torture easy." He joked, his hands holding him up on either side of him in an easygoing manner.

"Well then maybe you've finally met your match." She played back, smiling coyly up at him. "Maybe I'll finally be the one to break you."

The words had his mouth drying up, his heart skipping on pause-yet he couldn't find himself to deny the truth in them.

"Maybe." He relented, looking away again. "But I'm pretty good."

A grin snuck across his face as she play shoved him-something she had never done before, but found himself enjoying immensely because it had no effect on him.

She shoved his arm again-his grin grew wider as he stared at the wall, unmoving.

"Hmm…" she murmured, leaning back into her place sulkily, crossing her arms across her chest- "We'll see."

His smile was wide but she couldn't get himself to look at her just yet-the words were still fading in his ears as he looked down and caught sight of the time on his watch.

"It's getting late…" he murmured, noting that it was past midnight.

He finally looked at her, just in time to see her happy expression snap and shift into one of dull surprise.

"Oh. Well, then-"

He found himself reaching his feet reluctantly-she followed suit, sliding off the bed in order for her feet to reach the ground. Standing up she faced him, brushing her hair behind an ear.

"We didn't really do what Cobb wanted us too…" Her eyes went the ground and Arthur's stomach sank again as he recalled those two precious hours he had missed.

"Save that for tomorrow then. You need your sleep-you're still recovering after all." Her head snapped up, her golden gaze meeting his once more. As he recalled her injury his eyes flashed to her torso, where it lay-she had one arm wrapped unconsciously around it and his heart ached in the adorableness of the action.

"In fact, I should probably check it soon. Just to see if it needs further care." The words seemed proper to him but the light dusting of fuchsia in her cheeks proved otherwise. He resisted the urge to grin at her reaction, but politely acted as if she hadn't blushed.

"I'm not a doctor but, I'm second best. At least I like to think."

"Let's do that." She agreed heartily-he couldn't help the way his heart went to his throat at her jovial response. But it was time to leave-so with that he nodded curtly.

"Goodnight Miss Ariadne." He allowed a smile to slip out with his words.

She smiled up at him, nodding awkwardly back.

"Goodnight Mr. Arthur."

Arthur didn't stop smiling until his head hit the pillow that night, his Blackberry right beside him in case a certain Architect needed anything.


	14. Part 11: Experiment

**~Hope this chapter is as exciting for you guys as it was for me to write. Took my time with this one, but I think this is the good and finished product. Enjoy. ****Btw-the miniature sculpture that **_**'was to remind her of all that her (Grandma's) Germans had suffered.'**_** Is depicted in this link as the whole not mini sculpture found in Germany:****.** . -MsArtemis~

**Part 11: Experiment**

_The air was infused with the scent of hay and honeysuckle, the wooden boards beneath her heel withholding sighs as she slipped into the semi-darkness of the old barn. Glancing around one more time, she slipped the object out of the protection of her plaid shirt. In her palms she cradled a miniature marble sculpture, two twisting black objects dancing around a spray of silver twine. She was only seven, and Grandma had told her she didn't want a little girl to touch her things -but she'd had to see it up close._

_The little girl's mischievous eyes trailed the pathway that had led her to the stagnant coolness of the barn. The path was a single strip of meandering dirt that led up to the back door of a plain __albescent brick__ house. The Paris countryside was quiet, the laundry line swaying in the feeble breeze that hardly shook the suns undeniable warmth. A sense of premature safety overcame the child-her Grandmother had not noticed the missing object. _

_Stroking the sculpture, she studied it, wonder encasing her eyes in a glassy glow. Grandma didn't want her to touch it because she was German-and she had lived through Germany's tough times and this was to remind her of all that her 'Germans' had suffered. But it was so pretty, and the little girl just wanted to look at it once…_

_The shrill sound of a horse's call was all it took for the seconds to fly by, the 'one look' to be up. Dismayed the small child shakily dropped to her knees, her sense of wonderment abandoned. Ebony and moonbeam shards swirled in her watery eyed vision-hurriedly she tried to sweep up the remains of her Grandma's favorite sculpture. It was to no avail-her hands were too small and chubby and the pieces refused to slip into her open palm without a fight. Sobbing the little girl kept scooping up the pieces-the explosion had gone diagonally, the disaster trail leading right to the open barn door…_

_Suddenly there was the sweet sound of a whistled melody; a breathy, undeniable sound that made the girl shiver hopelessly-Grandma was coming. Her hands were cut and bleeding, the sobs making awful retching-like sounds as her grandmother's infamous leather boots came into her line of vision. The little girl's head stayed facing the floor-she couldn't look at her Grandma right now, she'd done something wrong, and it felt so bad…_

_And now Grandma was going to yell at her, tell her that she would never be an artist and that she was never to touch Grandma's things again and what a shame that she wasn't a proper lady…All of these insults rang with an almost invisible familiarity, one that the little girl was too busy to notice. _

_The child stopped her work._

"_Grandma, I-" _

_Suddenly the Grandma was kneeling down at eye-level, scooping up the chunks of art and pressing them into the open maw of a calico sack. The little girl's mouth dropped open-this wasn't supposed to happen. The floor began pulsing with undeniable palpitations-the Grandma's grizzly hair was thrown out of the way as she looked up, her silvery eyes meeting the girls. _

"_Shush Ariadne." The little girl's mouth morphed into a straight line as she obeyed, her lower lip quivering as the shaking came to a halt. The Grandma peered into her granddaughter's face with an expected look of vexation-and something else. The girl registered the queer expression as curiosity, the quest to find an answer, and so she leapt to action._

"_I didn't want to break it, Grandma! I just wanted to-"_

"_I understand what you meant to do, mi cheri. " Her voice trembled, breaking on 'cheri' with such emotion that the 7 year old found herself wondering. Grandma Isle was sad? She'd never seen her grandmother shed a tear-she was always brave. Was this her grandma at all? The older woman didn't provide an explanation of what she thought the child had tried to do as well-she was tying up the sack like she was possessed-what was Grandma afraid of? This was wrong. As the grandmother reached her feet, the sack of beautiful debri in her claw-like, wrinkly hands, a wooden support fell from the ceiling landed in between the two of them, demanding attention. Grandma's eyes flashed to the plywood, her silver eyes simpering with distrust and an inkling of fear._

"_Grandma-why aren't you mad? Don't you hate me? I broke it! And you, you-"_

_Her tiny voice was wavering, as if all her unspoken questions were creating a rocky pathway for the other words to follow. Her grandma seemed to understand what she was trying to say however, and to the child's delight the older woman met her gaze. Inside their depths lay a deadly solemnity that the girl found briefly fascinating. _

"_I loved that sculpture-but that's nothing compared to how I feel about you. Ariadne, I love you." _

_The little girl stumbled backward, wishing that the scream locked in her chest could fly free. This was wrong; this was so very wrong…Grandma Isle would never say that. This had happened before…but Grandma had yelled at her, told her what a bad girl she was. This wasn't Grandma, it couldn't be; the child's small caramel eyes welled up with tears, the contained shriek slipping out as a transparent whisper: "You're not Grandma."_

_The older woman looked down on the child, her shadow seeming to claw at the girl's form as her silvery orbs winked maliciously._

"_Good job, kid." _

_And then her Grandma was gone, her form disappearing down the dirt path…the little girl traced the leather boot imprints with her gaze, her lower lip trembling. The barn began vibrating again, the wood suddenly melting away into a thin, see-through material. A rush of wind snatched away the sun and the sky, the smell of a million libraries accompanying it as the wooden barn shifted into a paper structure…The paper was burning, flames licking and peeling away the walls that surrounded the girl, who just stood as everything fell to pieces. As the white overcame her vision she was very aware, for one brief second, of the needle-like feeling of a piece breaking away from a whole-and then she knew nothing. _

It was the rumbling beneath Ariadne that made her eyes snap open-and then she felt sick. Rolling over Ariadne coughed openly, allowing her stomach to keep uselessly pumping for something to regurgitate. After a few minutes the sensation slipped away seamlessly, leaving her drained and muscles aching as if she had fallen…it was then that she noticed the black-top beneath her palms. The energy it had taken to not puke came out in short puffs as she pulled one hand away, palm-up, to her face; catching sight of the grit and scrapes on them she assumed she must have tripped.

It was with some severe struggle that she reached her feet and it was only then that she caught sight of her surroundings. Her chest began heaving, her eyes rapidly blinking in utter befuddlement; briefly she had a flashback to that one time she had fallen asleep in her architecture class only to wake up and have no earthly idea where she was. Ahead of her was a glimpse of an empty street, the bricks surrounding her slimy with mold, the moisture running down the walls contributed to the broken gutters that lined the tops of the buildings that made up the alley. Everything was drowning in shadow-the only illumination apparent lay in the sparkling, desolate concrete that made up the deserted road ahead.

Dread crept upon her with steady hands-it was dead silent, not a bird's song or car horn to be heard.

"Hello?"

Her breathy question simmered in the open for several, languid seconds-and then something moved. Out of the darkness near the mouth of the alleyway, a human slid out with reptilian like grace. Ariadne gasped aloud, envying the fluid movements as well as suffering from incredible, numbing fear. For you see, standing before her was Arthur from the Second Dream Level of Inception, the white button-up beneath his dark jacket resonating on corneas like a cave echo. He smirked at her with coal-black eyes before straightening his crimson tie.

"Hello, Ariadne."

Arthur woke up immediately, only allowing an intake of breath through his nose to calm him. Sitting up quickly he surveyed the team's whereabouts with walled off eyes. Everyone was awake (had he really been the last one to wake up?) and all crowded about one chair. His stomach retreated to his throat, trepidation haunting his leg muscles as he reached his feet. Stalking toward the surrounded chair he felt a terrifying familiar feeling that had not been lost on him since he had first experienced it a week ago when he'd received that cursed phone call…

Standing beside Yusuf at the head of the reclining lawn chair he found himself reeling for a half a second; indeed the architect lay before them, her head lolling to the side, her face pallid and lifeless. Cobb was at Ariadne's right in a chair, head in his hands as Lacey glowered down on him.

"How dare you accuse me of letting this happen to her! Why would I even-"

Cobb's head snapped up, as if what little patience he held to him had finally been wasted with her single comment. "What the hell is happening to her, Lacey? You didn't tell us that she wouldn't wake up!" He gestured sharply to the Architect's prone form and Lacey let out a withdrawn sigh before flipping her hair. Arthur, red tinting his vision, grabbed her shoulder forcefully, leaving finger prints on the pale skin there as she was forced to flip around and face him.

"I don't have time for your games-tell us what's going on with her. All of it, now."

Lacey rolled her eyes, huffing out: "What makes you guys think I-"

Arthur's shot his response out at point-blank, cutting her off completely.

"Don't play games. I know why you don't want her here and it's no secret to anyone else either."

Eames, who was at Cobb's left, looked up, his grave face an unusual appearance on him. "Tell the man, for God's sake. There's a life on the line."

Arthur's breath hitched; a life? He turned to Yusuf, as if for confirmation, his stomach immersing in frigid panic as Yusuf searched her limp wrist for a pulse.

"Her heart beat is much higher than normal…ninety one and climbing-at this rate she might have a stroke." Yusuf turned his scathing amber gaze onto Lacey-"You didn't warn us of these side affects."

"I didn't think it was important-she was the one who wanted to be the first of the team to be tested upon! She was the insane one who volunteered to have her memory erased first, not me!"

Arthur seemed hardly in control of anything anymore…pulling up a chair to the foot of Ariadne's chair he slipped out the red die, throwing it low and across the floor of the ware-house. It skidded on the concrete floor, rolling and rolling…

His aura boasted of effortlessness and borderline danger-it made her muscles ache to sprint but she was frozen like a deer in headlights. The glaringly obvious silence was absorbed by every hard surface, so obviously there and solid that, to her horror, he smirked, his eyes a sooty metallic in color.

"Did I scare you? I apologize."

Ariadne's muscles went on lock-down; oh, God, that had sounded exactly like Arthur. Her frozen position caused the iron in his eyes to fade away into a rare-seen reserved warmth. "I apologize; I had just been downtown looking up the mark…" His head leant toward the left as he eyed her up and down, caution strengthening in his gaze. He began to approach her reluctantly, hands lowered in a symbol of peace. "I'm not going to hurt you. You just woke up a few minutes ago in the warehouse and then ran…I guess you must have hurt yourself, judging by the cuts..." Ariadne watched him, her eyes never traveling away from his stoic features.

It was him. She had been foolish to think otherwise; after all, she always woke up dazed and taking a walk to clear her head after a dream was believable. And Arthur couldn't be expected to have a different outfit for every time she saw him-he most likely just happened to wear his current outfit without a single thought related to their one kiss. Though she was very aware of the memorable suit as he came closer, placing his hands on her shoulders.

His mint cool breath brushed her forehead as she gazed up at him, shivering; his expression was destitute save for the sympathy that lay behind the sheet of his chocolate irises. For a moment she comprehended nothing, save for them breathing in and out in the sheer quiet of the alley. She shut her eyes, briefly overwhelmed as his scent overcame her: his breath was mint, his clothes reeking of cleanliness…but deeper, at the skin, she could practically taste the musk on her tongue. Warmth and desire rippled through her, electricity shooting down her spine; she shivered in pleasure, biting down on her tongue as if to cut off the sensation.

"Ariadne…?" he whispered, his breath's featherlike warmth caressing her face…

It was then that she felt a sharp stab to her stomach, so abrupt and violent a moan fell off her lips as she stumbled backward and away from the Point-Man. Arthur's fingers slipped off of her shoulders, releasing her and allowing her to back-track until her spine jarred into a solid surface.

Black washed over her vision; for a fleeting moment she heard a _bumbumbumbum_ pounding in the distance, loud and very palpable-and then he was there again.

"Are you alright?" As if a curtain had been pulled aside she could see him in front of her, much closer than before. They were chest to chest now, his body hard against every line of hers-a ripple of need nearly cut of her response.

"Fine." She huffed, trying to weave around him, only to find her back pressed against a wall; to her utter embarrassment her mistake had been in trying to escape, for in her attempt to do so their bodies had rubbed together in such a way that she tingled all over. She quit all attempts, vying instead with her eyes.

" I need some air, please, Arthur-"

"Do you really need some air?" His voice was a deadly quiet, as if it had killed off all other sound. He pressed in closer, till their faces were maybe two inches away. His eyes were a substantial charcoal, flames defiantly sputtering in them as he huskily murmured:

"Is that what you really want? For me to go away, for you to never get to know me like you so want to…"

The question might as well have been a Brazilian poison dart- it injected her with doubts, doubts she stubbornly, defiantly, _not in this moment_, wanted to answer.

"No-" Her reply was cut off as he put his arms on either side of her, his fingers digging into the brick as he gently bit the skin of her neck-her sigh shattered the silence to pieces, everything lost to the all consuming sensation. Shaking her head in denial scattered her thoughts, and in doing so, Ariadne caught a glimpse of clarity: Arthur didn't do this…but she was on fire, each butterfly bite he left behind leaking things back into her system.

Arthur didn't like her obviously, he had mentioned a professional relationship…there was something off. There was something…a shot, echoing in her mind, a half-remembered dream…

"Get aw-"she attempted to reach down and shove on his chest, panic flaring inside her with a devastating force; this _wasn't_ Arthur. Unfortunately, her strength had little affect on him; to her horror he pulled away, his eyes alight with manic laughter as his eyes and hands trailed down to her throat.

"My dear…" his words were revoltingly soft as the bricks that made up the alley began to fall out, clay upon clay creating ear-splitting tremors.

His hands found the scarf around her neck, fingering the beading while her vision began to grow black, the sick to her stomach sensation and _bumbumbum _returning with a blast of calamity. She could still experience him though-could still see the pleasure he took in while seizing the ends of her scarf with savage hostility.

"You are too smart for your own good." He met her eyes one last time, the emotion reflecting in his orbs reminding her of the remains of a broken mirror. Without another word he tugged on each end of the scarf with a vicious amount of concentration-one moment her spine was bent backwards in her effort to breathe, throat burning as she begged and pleaded…

Black mirror shards and snide smiles were the last things she saw before everything rendered to inconsolable shadows.


	15. Part 12: Torture by Narcolepsy

**Part 12-Torture by Narcolepsy **

The wind was making it difficult for him-Ariadne's body swayed limply in his arms, her head leaning against his chest, her pale lips parted as if in midscream. Everything, it seemed, was breaking to pieces around him and he could only do the best a Point-Man could. Ask questions later, act now.

A particularly nasty blast of wind tore hair out of the clutches of her butterfly clip, the strips covering her face like dirt over an open grave. The morbid thought was like a razorblade on his already thinning patience-he couldn't stand this anymore. Coming to a halt in the middle of the parking lot he brushed the strands away with trembling fingers (trembling? Him? Her powers seemed to still be in affect despite her deep slumber…) only to hear shouting coming from the open door behind them.

"What are you doing, man?"

"Arthur come back inside, please, Yusuf can take care of her-"

"She needs to be monitored _here_-"

"Arthur! For God's sake, I'm sorry I didn't-"

Amid all the yells, Lacey's was the most obvious, a bright pinprick of red amid the predictability of the other team member's calls.

He couldn't bring himself to respond just yet; he was too shaken up, his normally blank, sculpted features snatched away and replaced with something he had yet to experience. A facet of something completely wild, unpredictable, unnatural, _right_, artistic, vulnerable-something up to the rim with caramel eyes, vanilla scents, and the tinge of crisp flames-_Ariadne_.

Reaching the side door of his Camry he shifted her weight to one of his arms-desperately he watched her face for any sign of movement. His stomach dropped, his chest tightening in an expression of utter desolation-there was nothing, it was just Snow White here, in front of him.

Snow White, who had killed every spark of creativity and unpredictability and replaced it with ash and snow-the predictability of the wounded or dying. Unlocking the side door with a chirp, he opened it with one arm gallantly-he could feel every one of the team members gaze on him as he slipped the Architect into the back-seat. His panic made him take everything into account, just as it had during her phone call, and he found himself desperately wishing to just go to sleep with her, just so that he wouldn't have to know all these seemingly meaningless things that all pointed to somewhere he didn't dare look.

She was extremely light, maybe a little over 100 pounds (did she ever eat?) and her heart rate was still wild-he felt it's reserved power in the small of her back as he placed her upon the leather cushions. The heart beat-maybe 102-meant that she was alive, but barely. How much more could it take before it exploded? He'd never heard of anything like this in dreaming before-but then again he'd never attempted to erase someone's memory either. And God forbid she was the first to volunteer. He and Cobb had tried to discourage her-but she hadn't looked at Arthur when she'd entered that morning. It was Cobb that she had looked for, her eyes shining with a trust and understanding that made Arthur long to punch something. He couldn't help but feel the acidic irony of this-Cobb hadn't saved her life, ever-in fact, the Extractor practically threw her in harms way any chance he could. It was if his honed thievery skills were ranging outside dreaming, attempting to steal away what little Arthur yearned to understand. For Cobb saw her in every way, knew why she did what she did, but Arthur couldn't comprehend her. Shouldn't he, the Point-Man, understand the intricate mystery that made up their Architect as well?

Making sure she was in a secure position so that when the car took off (it could go up to 200 and more, surprisingly) she wouldn't tip over. As he began removing himself from the vehicle he couldn't help but catch one last glimpse of her shirt, ridden up so that her bandages, soaked in gore, jumped out at him. (At the rate her heart was going the blood had to be pouring out of the stitches) Cursing he swung the door shut, only to find his team members present and in varying positions near his car.

Eames was studying him with astounding sympathy(where in the hell did he start to care?), Yusuf was gaping as if Arthur had just desecrated some sacred Chemist code, Cobb was staring at him with hardened navy eyes, and Lacey was up front, first and foremost as usual.

Her orange curls were whipping into her face so hard that she was unable to see, but she spoke despite the mouthful of hair. "I never would have done this Arthur if I had known. The team I was with, when we tested it the subject had minor side effects. Ariadne told us the memory was small-I mean you know I said the smaller the memory the less painful, but Idon'tthinkshelistened-"

At Lacey's rare genuinely apologetic tone Arthur found himself assaulted by memories of them. _Lacey on the park bench, smiling up on him disarmingly, that damn dish set they had bought together, 'fancy and casual, don't you think'? she'd said. Of nights they'd shared where she would be telling him everything he wanted to hear and more, the few evenings where they'd just sat in silence and he'd wonder if she was the one. _But there had always been something missing, always.

"The experiment was a success, as far as we know." Yusuf noted, trying to comfort Lacey as well as put a more business-like light on things. Suddenly, as if he had been backstage and his act was now, Cobb spoke up. "I need to talk to Arthur alone, if you don't mind." The team stared for some while-Eames was eventually the first one to walk back to the warehouse shouting out: "You heard the man. Class dismissed." Yusuf followed obediently, Lacey casting one look at Arthur before turning her back on them both.

Arthur warily watched Cobb, whose arms were crossed over his chest as he patiently waited. As soon as the team was out of earshot Cobb turned on Arthur, his face grim.

"Did you two talk about why the dream collapsed the other day?"

"Yes. Briefly-she claimed I shot her. But that's not possible-I was with Lacey the entire time."

"It's possible if it's her projection of you."

Arthur nearly choked-clearing his throat loudly he searched Cobb's gaze for any hint that the previous statement was a joke. No sense of comedy crossed the Extractor's face as he awaited Arthur's response. For another long moment Arthur ran the concept across his mind; with a triple encore of heavy heartbeats he came to the realization it made sense.

"You mean like Mal and you." The words were low, for he was afraid to speak them out loud; Cobb's nod confirmed it, and that action alone wounded Arthur more than words could say.

Cobb noted the lightning strike of pain behind Arthur's eyes with removed remorse.

"After I took her home she broke down -you know how she is, always trying to cover everything up. It shocked me and I knew I had to stay with her."

"Did you tell her about…your theory?"

"I did."

Arthur tried not to blanch as his lips formed the words: "What did she think?"

Cobb seemed to be struggling as well, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he answered.

"She said…that that might be a possibility."

Arthur let out a long, low sigh, bowing his head in a gesture of belief before meeting Cobb's eyes once more. "Why would I ever…did she explain anything to you?"

"She didn't. When I tried to press her for information she said she'd rather not share. That's where you need to talk to her…for all I know, your evil projection-"

Arthur could feel the blood sliding out of his cheeks this time, his hands tightening on the terse air as he completed the sentence. "Is in Limbo with her? Right now?"

Cobb's features tightened, almost as if he was in physical pain, before nodding.

"Lacey explained to us very clearly how this works. You reenact a memory of the subject's choosing…you change it in such a way that the subconscious catches on, and attempts to destroy the intruders. The intruders, having disguised themselves as people in the memory, confuse the subconscious so it erases the entire memory in order to get rid of the infection. While it's attacking itself-"

"The subject will drop into Limbo." Arthur finished numbly, running a hand through his hair. "Dammit. Why didn't you tell me this beforehand?" His voice had suddenly risen as he dropped his hand, as the sun set behind the warehouse. (The sun was setting exactly at 6:10, as the Parsian Almanac for the year had predicted-stupid, senseless details…)

Cobb, tense as well, didn't hesitate, glaring full on at Arthur. "Don't yell at me Arthur. You two should have talked it out."

"You could have said something."

"Ariadne trusts that I won't share her personal details. It was up to you to ask her."

The words set Arthur livid; Ariadne trusts _Cobb_, the crazy Extractor.

"I'm sure she does."

"What is that implying?" Cobb's voice was dangerous, reflecting Arthur's tone back at him.

"Cobb let's not beat around the bush…how much should people tell you anything? Someone who would do anything for his family?"

"What are you getting at-"

"That if your family was being tortured that you wouldn't mind spilling information on the best Architect in the business."

Cobb turned enraged, his eyes sapphire daggers, his voice rising as he viciously tried to fend for himself.

"That has nothing to do with this. I just wanted you TWO to work it OUT-"

"OR MAYBE YOU JUST WANTED TO COMFORT HER AGAIN!"

Arthur couldn't seem to help raising his voice-he had trusted Cobb, just as Ariadne did. He thought he knew the Extractor, he had thought that Mal was important enough to remember…No one should trust unpredictable Dominic Cobb.

"THAT'S NOT IT GODDAMMIT-"

"THEN WHAT IS IT." Both of the men exchanged baleful glances, almost eye to eye and breathing heavily with withheld fury. Cobb didn't respond, his eyes wandering away from Arthur's with what Arthur was sure was guilt. Arthur nodded slowly, continuing on.

"This fight wouldn't be happening if there wasn't anything there Cobb, and you know it."

Cobb's eyes zipped back to Arthur's not unlike a piece of defiant prey gazing upon its hunter. The dangerous ice that laced through Cobb's face briefly was enough for Arthur to know that the Extractor would've punched him had he not turned away. Running a hand over his face, Cobb muttered: "Take care of her."

Arthur watched his formerly close co-worker stride back into the ware-house, Arthur's own harsh breathing not softening until the warehouse back door finally slammed shut.

* * *

Mind numbing dark caressed the glass windows of Ariadne's apartment, save for the few lights that decorated her vast ceiling and the millions of sketches that consumed almost every wall of the place. Arthur had taken to studying the sketches meticulously, pleased to find that her talent had not worn off, but rather had improved since the Fisher job. The impossible buildings and land forms distracted him slightly, tipping his attention to a duller, more skewed angle. Needless to say, Ariadne had not awoken and that put him extremely on edge.

When he'd left the warehouse 4 hours earlier his first intention had been to take her to a much needed safe house that lay to the West of the Seine. The owner of the safe-house, at the mere age of 28, was already a wealthy and retired physician/surgeon. However, as Arthur was heading in Gregory's direction, he had caught sight of the Architect's prone form in the rearview and couldn't think of anything else but that she looked tired. And home was always a place to rest…or maybe he was just insane. As Arthur studied a particularly bright rendition of another, more efficient and modern Eiffel Tower, he heard gasps seeping out of the open door nearest to him. Always quick on his feet Arthur made his way into the bedroom, peering upon the scene before him.

The bed sheets Ariadne lay upon were the richest of satiny blacks-once they had gotten to her apartment and Arthur had made sure her heart rate was painstakingly stable, he had quickly run out the nearest store and bought her the best available. (Egyptian cotton 89.99-he figured simple was best) At the moment the sheets that had previously lain on top of her were scattered, one deathly white hand gripping the loose fabric in a fist as she slept on. His stomach sank as Cobb's words echoed in his head, as he heard his own words with a bloodstained tinge: _You mean like you and Mal? _Pulling up a chair he had dragged from the kitchenette to her bedside he found himself watching her movements, waiting for the sure indications that she was still with him. It was with little surprise that the whole scene had practically been done before, a week earlier.

_The pink of her eyelids fluttered faintly- he almost wanted to grab her, shake her awake, but that was illogical and not needed. Only the small breaths, the smallest twitches of her fingers, kept him hoping she would wake up soon. _

"Pleaaa…" The words were so perilously subdued he found himself leaning in, her vanilla scent overpowering as her eyelids continued to flutter. "No." The word was feathery light in comparison to her regular deeper tone of voice but it sent a ramrod of ice down his spine. "Arthur…" His name flew from her lips unhindered, and for the love of God he wished he didn't relish in that. Because if anything, the Arthur she was referring to was not him. "No, Arthur. Please don't, don't-"

Arthur that very day was wearing a grey button-up with a light blue tie, yet he found himself wanting to desperately loosen the neck-piece as her silent turmoil went on. The words came to a stop as her mouth stretched wide, air scraping palely against the walls of her throat in a desperate effort to do something-Arthur almost puked on her cherry wood floor as he caught on. Bowing his head he placed it in his hands, trying to remain cool as his fingers tightened in his gelled up hair.

It was at that moment he remembered her injury-glancing up he caught sight of the crimson web on her light tan sweater. Taking in a deep breath he came to the decision that it was the least he could do for her, given the state she was in-he briefly adjourned to the kitchenette to grab some things. Returning a few seconds later he whipped the essentials onto the bedspread: whiskey from the fridge (sterilization), scissors, and a roll of fresh bandages. It only took one more breath of air (1.9 seconds passed) to ice his brain over, to cool any thought or feeling as his hands began to daintily uplift her sweater. He snipped through the bandages swiftly, exposing the bullet wound. The wound lay betwixt her abdomen and hip bone, the bullet having stopped its travel somewhere in-between, which was where had removed it previously. He peeled the bandages over the hip slowly, his fingers tingling where the delicate bone brushed his hand… Letting the gory ends of the bandage plop unto the sheets he gazed upon the bullet wound, noting the navy blue stitches that held the scabbing mess together. It was seeping around the edges (due to her near stroke) and so he worked from there. Raising the whiskey bottle to his mouth (and loosening his proud blue neck piece so that it lay limp upon his chest beforehand) he twisted the cap off with his teeth, spitting the black top onto the wood below his feet. Uplifting the _Mcarthy's _bottle high he withheld a wince-this would burn like hell-and with that he put on a brave face, slowly tipping the bottle and ready to pour. It was then that the caramel eyes snapped open wide, a deep breath drawn to her lips in a rush. And then, to Arthur's utter horror, Ariadne's glazed eyes caught sight of him and she froze, the tears in her eyes shining like crystal.

"Why?" she whispered.


	16. Part 13: The Evanescence of Arthur

**_Part 13- The Evanescence of Arthur_**

_evanescence:__ knowledge of a person, place, or feeling fading away and gradually vanishing from sight_

_They were window-shopping, Grandma Isle and her. Ariadne smiled at the vibrant scarves, but Grandma's reflected scowl begged to differ. "What's wrong, Grandma?" Grandma Isle was wearing a grey frock and thick leather boots. "You never told me you had a fiancé." The grandmother claimed-Ariadne opened her mouth to question but upon turning found Arthur beside her. _

_"You must be mistaken, Ms..?"_

_His face was calm, his hand lingering on the small of Ariadne's back._

_"Isle. Mrs. Isle"_

_"Mrs. Isle we are only dating." That ticked something off in the back of Ariadne's head but his comforting hand implied otherwise._

_"I'm this child's grandmother." Isle informed. _

_"Ah, now I see where she gets off being so pretty." He smiled charmingly, Grandma Isle allowing only a small grimace of faint approval in return as Ariadne's cheeks heated up. "But Ariadne and I must be getting elsewhere…pleasure meeting you." Grandma nodded once before thumping off into the distance. Ariadne, stunned: "Where are we going?" _

_"Just follow me" An alley, covered in slime, grooves scoured upon the bricks as if someone had been dragged out on their stomach… "Where are we Arthur?" He told her it was just a private place to ask questions unnoticed; she tried to turn heel and walk out, but he grabbed her wrists roughly. His eyes were hopping embers as he began shooting out questions. "How long have you known Dominic Cobb?" _

_Fear was a vice; it shut down control and let chaos reign._

_"A couple of months maybe…just let me go, please, please…" His grip slacked off; she broke away, running back to the cityscape only to see it had been erased and replaced with a deep, dark pool of water at the entrance to the alley. She backed up-he continued talking as she tried to stay away from the pool, but he was suddenly behind her._

_"Why is she drawn to you? Why is everyone drawn to you?" _

_"Who-" She's cut off as Arthur grabs her hair and brings her to the knees, bending her over so that she can see her own reflection in the pond. This wasn't Arthur. Gunshots, tight scarves, screaming, tears, blood, and coal black eyes seem to rush to her head as she remembers what this is, and what's about to happen. She tries kicking him with her feet but he just steps on her legs with a crushing force, pulling her arms behind her with his free hand. The other hand is pushing her face near the water as her eyes tear up at sight of the bottomless depths-and all of a sudden another woman flashes across the ripples of water. _

_The curly, rich brown bob and indigo eyes pin Arthur down; Ariadne can feel his grip loosen a bit, his breathing picking up loudly. "Mal?" he whispers._

_"Thad." The Shade hisses-and just like that the apparition is gone, and Arthur is swearing while dunking Ariadne under and she's choking on bubbles and praying to die…_

Ariadne had woken up 3 times during the whole 24 hours she was out. The 3rd and final time had been a tremendous struggle-she startled awake only to find herself in her bland bedroom alone, freshly bandaged and on new sheets. Running over the past events in her mind she could only remember arriving at the warehouse with what seemed ages ago.

"You're awake."

Ariadne started, gripping her sheets and pulling them over herself instinctively as Arthur watched her from the doorway. His maroon button-up and black slacks brought out the ebony shine in his slicked back hair as well as highlight assorted places on his lean body . His eyes were a modest chocolate, and to her surprise, stubble shadowed his sculpted jaw and cheekbones. His normally alert posture now bordered on sleep-depravation and hesitancy; she half wondered why before she was overrun by images: _him, sitting at her bedside with wild hair and an undone tie…coal-black eyes… "Ah, now I see how she gets off being so pretty…", an alley with groove marks imbedded in the stone… _Needless to say, Ariadne shivered-the movement didn't get past Arthur's gaze and she experienced the brief , knowing crease of his brow before it smoothed itself out again. Disoriented she allowed her regenerating curiosity to burst forth after hours of being asleep.

"What happened?" She was unabashedly goggling at the man in her doorway, the images continuing to pile up behind her eyelids. He stared back, as if in shock of her existence-her stomach twisted viciously as everything came back in a rush. Arthur-killing her multiple times after throwing questions at her like darts…Arthur whispering 'Mal' like a lover; Mal, alive and shining beneath the inky surface of the water…What if this was another dream-one where they didn't reappear in the city where she trusted him-but rather in the empty haven that was her apartment?

Because as far as she knew, Arthur was clean-shaven and always had something to say-and right now he was just watching her, just watching…Air hooked on to the walls of her throat as her hand slipped into her jeans pocket, her breathing hard and fast; Arthur's gaze shifted from unreadable to concerned in a matter of seconds and he took a quick step in her direction: "Ari-" Her eyes turned on him with crackling bitterness; "Stay away from me!" she warned, her fingers still fumbling until she produced a single object. Arthur froze in his footsteps, watching as she placed the bishop on the wooden chair that lay at her bedside. Breath catching she hit the top of the piece with a finger-it connected solidly, the object bit the wood in a harsh cough and she breathed a sigh of relief. This was reality; the hefty weight that the golden Bishop owned couldn't be recreated in any dream space.

"This is real." Arthur's voice seemed to yank at her heart viciously, demanding hatred as well as trust. Meeting his eyes she found relief-they were a reserved chocolate, not the coal-black of her dreams. "You were in Limbo." He continued. The relief faded into short, unprecedented shock."What?"

"You volunteered to be the first trial run, Ariadne. Limbo was expected. We made sure you were informed of all this before you went under-are you sure you don't remember?" Her blank face answered for him. "This will make it difficult…we might have to drop the job…"

"No!" Ariadne's interjection stopped Arthur's musings and his gaze flashed to hers as she continued. Refusing to let the heat in her cheeks turn into a blush pile-up she attempted to explain herself as logically as possible. Because God knows Arthur enjoyed logic. "We need to do this job. This man hired us to save him. And we need to go through with that because we made a promise. This…Andres, is counting on us. We can't just drop it before we've even started." Her speech finally out Arthur raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"For someone who works illegally you have rather high ideals." And that was all that was said on the subject.

* * *

An hour or so later Ariadne found herself at the warehouse; overnight it seemed the teams' doubts had been brought to light.

"Earlier today I didn't remember anything-but an hour ago I began getting bits and pieces. It was an unpleasant memory about Grandma Isle, I'm sure now. I just can't seem to recall it at all."

Cobb's navy eyes were raging with concern that attempted calm, blank composure-he still didn't believe it was safe. Ariadne stared back at the Extractor, her gaze leaning toward imploring-because she damn well wanted to work again and the whole team be damned if she almost had a stroke. It didn't matter; she needed to dream. Yusuf voiced his medical interest by Ariadne's side:

"And you are fine? No problems breathing? You haven't passed out since you officially woke up, have you?"

"No, Yusuf." Ariadne's eyes slipped shut and she leaned back in her lawn chair, arms in lap as she pushed away the inconsolable burn of her left wrist. "Passing out indicates that the mind is giving its all to hold onto the memory-the stronger the memory, the more likely the subject is to be in a coma." Yusuf reminded.

"Sounds like a bloody success to me." Eames muttered from his lawn-chair corner, fingers twirling a ball-point pen in nonsensical circles: "She doesn't remember anything so the mission was a success, obviously."

"You'd be surprised the things that go on after you lose a memory." Ariadne's eyelids flew upward as Lacey's voice snaked through the lawn-chair circle. The Forger stood to the far left of Eames, her violet ruffled dress almost completely doused in shadow. Eames' pen came to a halt mid-flip as he assessed Lacey with laughing eyes: "Luve, you're going to have to tell us about how you learned this sometime. I, for one, would love to know about your dirty adventures in said other lands. Maybe Arthur would too, if he-"Lacey smirked down at Eames in affection, arms crossed over her voluptuous chest as Arthur let out a warning 'Eames' from Yusuf's side. Eames rolled his eyes: "Bloody hell, Arthur. I was just messing around, no need to get a stick up your ass." Ariadne grinned wryly as Arthur glared at the Forger, as Eames turned on the Point-man. "How did you manage to walk out your door with that stubble anyway? Isn't there some Point-Man alarm inside your head that tells you to remain boring? Not that I'm objecting to this new rumpus look of yours, but staying by Ariadne's side all night seems to be taking its toll on you. Maybe next time we can make a party of it. I'm sure Ariadne would feel mighty better when she sees what her precious Arthur is like when he has some vodka in him."

"Hopefully not as idiotic as you are on a regular basis." Arthur retorted.

"Don't flatter yourself, darling-by far you're worse."

"We've wasted enough time." Cobb's voice carried over every head in the warehouse, the syllables weaving a clock into the picture. Scanning the assembled he spoke softer, as if the previous tone had been too harsh. "We have a job that's due in a month. Arthur will take it from here." His posture morphing into relaxation, Cobb slid back in his seat as Arthur stepped into the center of the circle. In his arms he carried several, thick manila folders. Multi-colored tabs stood out from the tops and sides, multiple paper edges eagerly poking their ways out of the melee.He lapped the inside of the circle, depositing the according packets on each team members lap. He left Ariadne with hers last-his eyes, darker in the low lighting, met hers briefly; she shivered, recalling the hungry marks he'd left on her neck in Limbo shortly before choking her to death... He retreated to the center of attention too fast to catch how she recoiled from his hands and tugged the folder to her chest. His back to the group, Arthur strode toward the marker board, coming to a stop before its presence and allowing his professional tone overwhelm them all: "This is all you need to know about Andres Hernandez. Let's have a quick overview-turn to the opening page and we'll start from there..."

* * *

_Andres Hernandez. No Middle Name. Born on September 19 in Cuba, had always lived in Cuba. 44th birthday coming up. (See page 29 for Birthday Gala...) _

There were only a few pictures of the Mark; in one photo he was stepping out of a frightening, no doubt outrageously priced Viper-in another he sat in an office setting, scratching numbers down upon a yellowed piece of paper. He was of darker skin, having spent almost all of his life in the sun and his eyes were a rheumy jet black that sent her reeling back to her short time in Limbo. His face consisted of dead black curls, thin lips, and a strong, square jaw. Bent over the paper his expression seemed one of intent marred by an overpowering anxiety that made her want to comfort him.

"He's dangerous you know." Ariadne's head snapped up, her vision suddenly filled with Cobb leaning against her desk, staring down on her, arms crossed.

"I'm aware. Page 38 listed his contacts."

Cobb nodded, his attention redirected at the same time her eyes were drawn back to the glossy photos. Ariadne's lip began moving numbly with the repetition of the words, each fact hitting sharply off her tongue with the bitter taste of business.

"CEO and founder of Armistice Corp., which was a million dollar weapons business until his drug dealers found his weak spot. They started creating crazy price tags for every brick of weed…His wife is Carina Blackwell, a Spanish model whom he met on a business trip. There are rumors that he abuses her as his marijuana withdrawal becomes too much…" Quickly she flipped through the packets, searching for confirmation to her words-she missed Cobb's chuckle at her urge to impress. Finding that what she had said aloud lay within page 24 she nodded, continuing on courageously. "His closest friend and confidante is an assassin. His name is-" She pulled up blank-gaping down at the packet as if it had personally offended her she began frantically scouring every page for said confidante's identity. Cobb's chuckle was loud enough this time that Ariadne glanced up, meeting his eyes with an irritable crooked smile. "What's so funny?"

Her ill-tempered tone did nothing to drain the remaining laughter in his eyes, and that's what she liked about him. So many people looked at her as if she was that one coconut filled chocolate in a heart-shaped box; unexpected and strange but they dealt with it anyway because they wanted chocolate. But not Cobb- a pang in her heart quickly slammed the happiness that had fled across her soul; a pang that reminded her of an Arthur whom, with what seemed like ages ago, had joked around with her while they sat on her bed. He hadn't looked at her stunned for once; he'd looked at her like she was the world.

But that was before Limbo.

And now he was as distant as if nothing had happened-and oh, that's right, every time she looked at him now she remembered distinct ways his freak projection had ended her life. Would she ever understand him? Would she ever know the real Arthur?

"You don't have to know everything." Cobb's voice shoved her back to reality, brought her heart beat into the game. It raced viciously as she looked up at the Extractor. Had he read her mind?

"But Arthur-"

"I know what Arthur said." Cobb peered down on her, his eyes a lofty blue, his lips sliding into a frown. "But he says those things because he's stressed."

Ariadne's heartbeat slowed tenuously, realizing that this was still about the case.

Not about the ever evanescent Arthur.

"Because of Eames teasing him? But that's just what he does. There was no need for Arthur to snap like that."

Cobb's eyes melted with an emotion that she could only take in as a cross between sorrow and sympathy before his words struck her: "Eames' jokes don't bother him. Arthur's worried about you, Ariadne."

Ariadne couldn't breathe-and then, in a flurry of air and the pressing scent of assorted flowers Lacey came out of the shadows, giggling flirtatiously as Eames pinched her ass for the hundredth time that day. "Eames stoppp!" She slapped his hand away and Eames met Ariadne's gaze over Lacey's shoulder, rolling his eyes jovially: "She wants it Ariadne."

"And you assume every woman wants to be pinched constantly?"

"It's true. You women just can't say what you want." The words hit Ariadne hard-Eames seemed to add insult to injury when he gave her a knowing wink before walking out the back-door of the ware-house.

Lacey struggled to breathe, her efforts in leading Eames on apparent before gasping out: "Ariadne-" This was the first time the Forger had first addressed her directly and Ariadne found herself startled, her eyelids fluttering momentarily.

"I know we haven't started out on the best of terms, so I think we should bond. Arthur thought it was a good idea-"

Cobb cut to the chase quickly, his face tight as if he had sucked on a lemon before speaking to the ginger goddess.

"What, Lacey?" The turquoise eyes flashed to him, then back to the Architect, her excitement nonplussed by Cobb's annoyance. "-that I stay overnight with you at your apartment." Ariadne paled, her muscles tightening as the Forger summed it up with: "It'll be fun! Like a girl's night!"

But all Ariadne could think of was _Arthur said it would be a good idea _and how she very well knew this wasn't a good idea at all. Had he planned all of this? Or was the Arthur from Limbo coming out of the real one, enjoying his sadistic torture and covering it up with pleasantries?

The architect slammed the manila folder shut with a taunt hand, meeting the turquoise eyes with masked sarcasm: "Sure, why not?"


	17. Part 14: Duplicity

_**Part 14-Duplicity**_

_Duplicity:__ deceitfulness in speech, conduct, or manner_

His new favorite color was gold.

Though he knew that at some point he had known it was something else, it didn't matter anymore.

He knew her favorite color was gold too.

She gazed upon him, icy hands tangling in Cobb's golden hair, their bodies enveloped in the silk golden sheets of anniversaries past.

He was a damn good forger, he knew-he prided himself on it. If she preferred his guise to be the one of Dom, then so be it-he would do anything for the lovely Mal Cobb.

She was more than lovely-her beauty was matched with unpredictability not unlike the arctic sea of her eyes. Her stunt, appearing in that girl's Limbo right when he was getting information, almost ruined his cover. But they would forget. He knew they would forget. But right now he couldn't seem to do anything but hold her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings as she and him, as Cobb, celebrated their 3rd anniversary.

They were at the part at around 3 in the morning-he had this whole memory down to the tiniest grain, he had relived it perfectly so much. He was her Cobb. No, he was better than Cobb had ever been.

But she didn't know that. She trusted him, because after all-he was the great Dominic Cobb.

They were at that part where after hours of love-making, they stared into each other's eyes, neither one wanting to go to sleep. He wanted to praise her, to tell her how much he loved her, but Cobb hadn't done that-he had to do exactly as Cobb did or she would know.

"I love the stars." She whispered, smiling at him gloriously. She was an angel, she was more-she was his. For once in his life she was his. He was Dom, the best student in class, the one who had caught Mal's eye-the one she had married.

This is the part when Cobb reached out, tracing the side of her face with hapless fingertips-he leapt to action quickly, only to find himself one second too late. Her eyes cut themselves into deadly points as she hissed: "Thad."

A long, gory welt slit itself along her collarbone like magic, blood languidly mingling with the gold sheets.

Sudden tears welled up in her eyes, but they bothered him little. At least she wasn't as angry as last time-then he'd have to hurt her again.

"You aren't my Dom. Where's Dom? This isn't right. This didn't happen. Thad-oh, Thad what have you done to me?"

He laughed aloud, his eyes like lunging hounds: "You're mine, my sweet." And he continued trailing his fingers down her face, tears shadowing his hand. The collarbone cut began to bleed profusely, the blood flowing under him, onto her, splashing the sheets vermillion.

Though he knew his favorite color at some point had been gold, it didn't matter anymore.

His new favorite color was red.


	18. Part 15: RipTide

_**~Dear Readers: School, unfortunately, is becoming more difficult as the weeks wear on. 4 or 5 more weeks till finals are done and over-so, the point is that this is the last chapter I will post until summer. Or after finals-whichever comes first. Sorry! Any ideas for the coming chapters? I have a plot going but I'm certainly willing to work some ideas in there! Reviews please-the more reviews the more ideas and/or inspiration I have to see Rappeler to the very end. Love you all!-MsArtemis~**_

**Part 15: Rip-Tide **

_Rip-tide: a stretch of turbulent water in a river or the sea causing a chain reaction in which one current flows into or across another current. _

It was four days after Ariadne had snapped out of Limbo; four days since Lacey had stayed overnight at the Architect's apartment. Today, during the entire time Cobb had been present at the warehouse, Ariadne had stood in her architect office enclosure, taming cardboard with a knife and a vision for the first level of the Hernandez assignment. She'd been that way since she'd memorized that folder backwards and forwards four days ago; and frankly, everyone was concerned about her. Arthur had already tried to reason with her twice-the first time she had snarled that if he didn't want to get the job done he should just admit it. The second time he'd attempted to reach out and gently put the hand with the miniature dagger down but she'd cringed away from him, whimpering aloud. This generally surprised everyone watching (for sound carried in the warehouse) and the crushed look that had skirted over Arthur's face wasn't lost on anyone.

The whole place was practically dead, the tension held up by a string as various snipping and curses could be heard from where their Architect lay. _Enough was enough._ Standing up, his movements as degenerate as an old man's, Cobb headed over to Ariadne. He could feel the pairs of eyes trailing his path, the string of tension stretching behind his back as he stepped into the Architect's enclosure.

Ariadne lay bent over her cardboard, her knife raised in one hand and muttering to herself. Her hair was swept into a messy bun, several pieces falling out haphazardly as she worked. She wore a filmy plain white shirt and with her empty hand she fiddled with a flamboyant golden scarf. Over the shirt lay a tan leather jacket that covered up her arms completely-catching sight of the long sleeves he felt his hands tighten-why hadn't he noticed that she was wearing long sleeves more and more? Shaking her head she wiped a hand on her dark jeans, turning away and to a sketch that lay on a nearby desk.

"That's not right-ugh. How can it be the same setting, it doesn't make any sense-"

"Ariadne?" The Architect's head shot up as if she'd been stabbed in the back, her gaze meeting the Extractor's like a cornered animal. Seeing that it was him, she calmed down slightly-the fear in her caramel eyes faded away and was left with a blank wall that he hadn't seen before. The stiffness didn't leave her shoulders as she demanded: "Yes? I'm almost done, now-"she tried looking down at the model again instead of meeting his eyes in a way he found disturbing. She was acting as if she was being hunted-what was she afraid of?

"I'm almost done! I swear-"

"ARIADNE." His tone demanded her attention and she raised her eyes once more-this time he saw the dark circles below them, as if she hadn't slept in days. Like he said, enough was enough.

"You need a break, now." She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off with an explanation: "Rushing won't help and it'll lead to mistakes that might get us killed." He cast a glance over her stark-rave appearance and then thought it the best to add: "I'll take you home."

Before they had left, Cobb had ordered the whole team to go home early. Seeing Cobb and Ariadne exit the building together threw the whole team under a cloud of suspicion but no questions were asked out of fear that the day be called on again.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me now?"

Cobb's thoughts were brushed aside; with a sudden reality-check he found himself in Ariadne's bedroom. He'd never been it before and he found himself wanting to get out; the walls reminded him of skeletons, so blank were they-he wanted to run away and never look back.

"Tell you what?"

"We talked about discussing what happened after Inception." Her expectant gaze did not coax a response out of him; turning away she sighed, tearing off her scarf and allowing it to drift onto the black sheets. "Yes…" His eyes traced her actions, wondering where she was going with this as she placed two champagne glasses and a bottle of vodka on the bed.

She sat down next to the strip of gold and the crystal, meeting his eyes. Her gaze was open; it spoke tales of pain she wanted to let go, things she needed to speak of.

Gingerly he sat at her side, trying his best not to touch the poisonous alcohol and the vanilla smelling scarf. Fending off the deadly aroma he emptied out all thoughts, trying to keep a clear head as he spoke up.

"What was….Limbo, for you?" The words were gradual, as if he was attempting to not lose footing on a rocky slope. Taking in air she glanced down at her tangled hands, which lay helpless in her lap.

"I'd end up in different places in this one city I just must have pulled out by instinct…I always forgot why I was there. And then he'd come along, Arthur's projection."

Cobb nodded sympathetically, his heart thrumming away in his throat.

"He would seem so right, so normal-he'd lead me away and make some excuse to get us alone, with me always cornered." She took an unsteady breath, her fingers making knots, a sheet of her hair blocking her face from view. "I always seemed to forget that he'd kill me at the end. I always remembered when he did something…un-Arthurish. And by then it was too late, Cobb. Too late." Her voice was destitute, like one who is merely a witness to a crime and can state nothing but the facts.

Cobb's reflex was to comfort her with what he knew: "Like I told you when that dream first collapsed, it's just your projection of him, just how you perceive him. You can change that."

It was then that he noticed her shoulders visibly shaking, as if she was freezing to death. Taking matters into his own hands he snatched up the vodka, popping off the top and pouring her a champagne glass full. Pushing the glass in front of her downcast eyes he watched her study it before wrapping her fingers around its slim neck.

"Just drink some, it'll stop the shaking." He reassured, cautiously withdrawing his hand from the glass only to watch her just nod shyly in his direction and not even glance at him.

Ill equipped to deal with this strange, vulnerable side of Ariadne he put the bottle down, giving himself a healthy glass beforehand. Taking his first sip he began praying to have the strength to not feel this way about her; to not feel as if he should pull her into his side, and tell her everything she wanted to hear while breathing in her heady scent.

The troubling thoughts had directed his gaze to the bland bedroom door; he felt her eyes unconsciously burning into his side in a way that was not aiding his cause in letting Arthur have her. Cursing mentally he downed the rest of the drink in one gulp, ignoring the feeling of her now incredulous eyes.

"Have you called home recently?"

Lowering his empty glass with an unsteady hand Cobb didn't take his gaze away from the door. "No, I haven't-I will tomorrow."

"Why haven't you already?" Her questions, as always, were striking-they rarely made any pretense and shot straight home. Ariadne didn't beat around a bush unless she absolutely had to-that was for sure.

"Business has been busy."

"That's not an excuse and you know it." He dared to take a glance at her-her eyes were a familiar callous brown that didn't accept 'no' for an answer-it seemed to ignite something within him.

"That's all there is, Ariadne."

"You could have talked to your kids if you wanted to."

"That requires a certain amount of safety involved. You were shot by a stranger we can't identify and that makes things different."

"Different how? You still aren't sleeping well-"

"Neither are you-"

"And you're drinking abilities speak for themselves." He glanced down only to find that he was well his way into a third drink-he met her gaze with sea-salt eyes that leant more to sharp salt than warm waters. There was a brief pause-enough of a time for her to pour herself another drink rather calmly and sip it before speaking.

"Just tell me." Her words bore bone-weary compassion. "Please."

He scrutinized her for three sustained seconds-she finished off her glass, not taking her eyes off him-before his gaze met the wood of the door and he gave a tart nod.

"Because I've been having nightmares. About Mal and me."

The feeling of exposure was not pleasant-it was if he had shed his skin and had laid his stitched up heart before her. He couldn't bear to face her and take in her reaction-he heard no other indicators of apprehension or irritation so he moved on.

"Nothing like her projection-I just keep forgetting things. Little things about her, little pieces of memory…I'm not sure I want to forget her yet." The words ran out of his mouth leisurely but he could feel his chest constricting, his hands turning into fists. The wood below his polished shoes comforted him more than meeting her gaze would; it would hurt too much to battle those all-knowing caramel eyes and have her know that Mal, even in the tiniest sense, was still calling the shots.

"Getting over her is natural, Cobb." Ariadne reassured-he could hear her knock back another glass , the vodka creating a gritty sound effect on the back of her throat. Despite everything he found himself interested to see how she handled alcohol because regardless of any efforts she had made to prove herself a capable adult, he still found her innocent.

Finally looking over he was surprised to see she had swallowed without a wince, her eyes snapping open with refreshed vigor. It was when she began lowering the ravished piece of crystal that he caught sight of her arm, where the sleeve of her jacket had fallen backward. The sight caused dismay to fill his chest, its raven wings knocking any other emotion out of the way as she turned to him and he met her with fathomless sapphire eyes.

The words tumbled out: "Take that off."

Ariadne snorted into her glass ungracefully, batting her eyes, dumfounded: "Excuse me…?"

Cobb was already beginning to get drunk-his 3 glasses made it easier to speak, made the world's edges downy and safe. He knew she was must be on her way to being wasted as well-for when he reached over and pulled the jacket off she allowed it to slip off and onto the bedspread wordlessly. Fingers tripping across her skin, he tugged her wrists with a slight pressure; she understood, pulling her arms together so that the elbows were exposed to the glow of the singular light bulb that hung above them. Garish puncture wounds and upraised veins ran rampid across the cream of her skin, indicating her unhealthy sedative use.

The sight wanted to make him weep: for himself, because he shouldn't be getting over Mal; he shouldn't want this young thing next to him. For her, because she couldn't stop dreaming; because she was beginning to fear things in reality and it wouldn't be long before she began jumping at shadows and calling people the wrong name…but worst of all, she was turning into him.

And he couldn't allow that to happen.

Her arms slid out of his grasp as her hand raced for another glass. "I can't stop dreaming Cobb. Y'know, when Lacey stayed over the other day she noticed it too. Once she got everything about Arthur off her chest-"

"She talked about her and Arthur?"

Ariadne belted out a raucous laugh, bringing the rim of her glass to her lips before meeting his eyes. Oh, she was most definitely getting drunk…they should stop…

"Of course. About how he's great in bed and how she misses him and wants me to stop 'tempting' him or whatever the hell…" She sipped, not breaking eye contact with the Extractor as she trampled on. "I don't know what she's talking about. Arthur isn't…I mean, he told her we were just co-workers…" Cobb's heart was aching for her-and then he registered what she said. His fury bubbled up too fast-somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he was drunk, and that this was somewhat over exaggerated-but at the same time it felt so real.

"He did what?"

"Told her that we were just co-workers." The remainder of her drink disappeared behind her sentence, its biting taste pressing the next sentence out. "I know I'm not the prettiest or experienced or whatever he sees in her-" Her thumbs twiddled in her lap and she stared down at them, her tiny feet dangling off the ground.

"That's not it." The fever in his words rammed away her remaining babble; she blinked three times, flustered.

"What?"

Slamming his eyelids down he gulped, hard, breathing in through his nose in a desperate attempt to stop his thought process but all he swallowed was vanilla scented perfume. Frustrated, his eyes flashed open once again, caramel pools so desperately near his own as he spoke.

"Any man can see your attractive Ariadne, Arthur included. And I've worked with him for awhile and I've never seen him this stupid."

"Stupid why?"

He didn't answer.

"Cobb-"suddenly she was yanking on his face, turning it towards her so that they were eye to eye. "Why is he being stupid?"

Cobb sincerely tried not to breathe, tried to not feel the silk of her white shirt brushing his arm, tried to silence the heart that was marching away inside of him. He was attempting to meet her eyes, to meet her fire with incinerated ice…but really, he was nothing but ash anymore ;ash that was so easily blown away in the wind…He was openly staring at her now, and she was staring back, the only sound their breathing. For a moment he wondered at why people say they fall into another's gaze-for he'd fallen to his death in countless dreams before and this wasn't falling- it was a rip-tide; something uncontrollably more dangerous because you didn't have a choice-you could choose to trip or fall but there are no decisions when it comes to rip-tides. You are pulled under and before you know it…you're drowning. And that is when, with liquid courage racing through his veins, he leant forward and let their lips touch.

He could taste the cool air whistling in as she gasped in surprise, as he let the gentleness of his touch fade and fully pressed his mouth down on her own. She didn't resist, allowing her lips to meld with his-and that was when the door to Ariadne's bedroom opened.

Cobb pulled away quickly; head swirling and full of vodka-he only had a few seconds to see the visitor. As the room took form he saw Arthur, standing in the doorway, expression unreadable- in the next second the Point-Man was stalking toward Cobb, dark eyes burning.

There was little warning as Arthur's fist met Cobb's face, sending the whole room into a swirling reverie the Extractor could only describe as rip-tide.

_**~How was that? Tell me! Did you hate it? I promise that this is leading up to the plot and will be the **__**only**__** physical thing Cobb and Ariadne will ever share together….you gotta trust me, I'm all for A+A; this isn't a Cobb and Ariadne story, promise. 3 A+A~**_


	19. Part 16: Resolution

**Part 16-Resolution**

_resolution-__The conversion of something abstract into another form_

He'd first seen her in a plaza.

Amid all those people, all the colors and faces, her outline remained stark clear-to this day he wondered how he ever got lucky enough to notice her.

Pedestrians passed in front of his gaze but to no avail-she still shone, as bright as any star in her navy v-neck and peach floral skirt. She gave off the appearance of a girl who had just stolen candy from her grandfather, or a baby bird that had completed its first successful flight-it was his mistake that he didn't see that she was a woman in love. In love with _Dominic Cobb_.

There was a fountain at the center that she sat on…she was just grinning for no obvious reason, her eyes the same color as the cloudless sky, and he'd came to a halt in the crowd in order to admire her light. He didn't know why she just blazingly stood out like that-but that's how it had started.

Dainty legs crossed and hands behind her she leant back, allowing the spray from the water to spritz on her skin, her eyes examining the blanket of sky above her.

Thad swore she was the prettiest little thing he'd ever seen. And he'd seen many….many, pretty things.

He was soulful, angsty, and unknown to most, but when people got to know him he was downright charming. He knew that. If he wanted this stranger, he could just go and pick her up now-it wouldn't be hard. A grin here, a misplaced comment there, a brushing of her exposed leg _there_…

But as he watched her enjoying the weather, as her gleaming grin caused his heart to rip into 100 beats per second, something inside him starry-eyes Thad had previously been wearing fell off, his cheekbones tensing as his delight in her morphed into a kind of sizzling iron. A heavy, shocking weight in his chest-a resolution.

He didn't just want this stranger for one night. He needed her for forever. He _needed_ her. And he _would _have her. The weight was unusual-even now, in his moment of reckoning, he questioned it-for random, passing moment he'd become alarmed, even distraught at what he'd become. But only for a little while. All he had to do was slip into Dominic's skin… and then she was his.

He hated when she came to her senses, when hurting her was over. Because then he recalled the headlines, the news channel report from Los Angeles: _American Man Slaughters Wife on Anniversary_, and the pictures of her ruined body on the sidewalk and street- remembering the grotesque images would cause him to wake up. And then he would cry vinegary tears until he summoned up the reason why he had to keep going. The weight would only go away, he decided, if he brought her memory justice-and what better way…then to bring down the man who ruined both their lives?

Newly awoken, Thad's lips curved upward charmingly-and then he began his plan.

**~Sorry, readers! I had to include at least one more chapter in Thad's POV...he's so compelling. At least to me, anyway. I have been told to 'crank out this story like a mofo cause I wanna read more'. I will do. The next chapters are building up, each chapter another huge step forward. I am still studying for the upcoming exams, however-in about a week and half I will be hitting this computer like no tomorrow until Rappeler's done and finished. I hope this was good and/or worth reading. Thank you all who read!-MsArtemis~**


	20. Part 17: Constriction

**Part 17-****Constriction**

_Constriction-__A place where something has become tighter or narrower; an obstruction_

_Blood, warm and sweet, slid off the knuckles of his left fist, a trail of scarlet droplets shadowing his hurried exit from the apartment complex. Reaching the elevator he found his fist hardly able to unwind-each singular knuckle felt as if a lit match had been pressed against it-a pain so bitter he swore softly and pressed the down button with his right hand. As he waited patiently he closed his eyes, cool air kissing the skin of his heated temples…sweating he attempted to pull up the arms of his sweater, only to find they already had been rolled up all day-and the warmth he felt was only because of the scene he had just witnessed, only because he had punched one of his most trusted co-workers in the face…_

"_Arthur-stop!" He could hear Ariadne stumbling down the hall in her boots-he didn't turn to her, concentrating solely on the whir of the elevator gears…_

"_Get back, hereee-"A small scuffle. Maybe she had tripped-he could care less. "Dammit. It was an accident…"_

_Something deep inside him bubbled, churned at her feeble excuse-he only allowed a small whiff of the vile concoction to slip past his teeth: __**"**__**Vous savez ce que vous avez fait."(You knew what you were doing.)**_

_It was something he'd never attempted with her before; speaking French, a foreign language that they both knew-and it should be something special. A joke, a curtain of privacy…but it was not now. It was stained with the taste of her mouth on the Extractor's, the blood that hit the floor like tears…_

_A blessed pause in her crusade down the hall-there was a shivering silence before: __**"S'il vous plaît, permettez-moi d'expliquer."(Please, allow me to explain.)**_

_The elevator came to with a groan-he stepped inside, his back to her as the doors remained open. She attempted to keep focused on him as she leant against a wall for support, as she studied his stiff back. _

"_**J'attends de vous voir deux à sept dans l'aéroport demain." (I expect you two to be at the airport at seven tomorrow.)**__He called out._

_And then the doors were sliding shut and his final sentence fell out as he was stolen from view:_

"**Vous avez deux ont une merveilleuse soirée ensemble.**_** "(Have a wonderful evening together.)**_

He supposed Ariadne had found the airplane tickets on her floor when she went back for Cobb, because both of them had arrived at the airport. They had sat next to each other onboard, discussing the job in whispers-Arthur had tried not to evade the chill that their cold shoulders offered, but it proved difficult. The three-hour plane ride was strenuous, given his frequent glances at the Extractor and Architect, who chatted two seats back. Neither of them acknowledged his stare, and he would always look away when Cobb turned his head, the purpling bruise on his jaw a solid reminder of Arthur's rash reaction.

They landed in Cuba some hours later, the first stop a four-star hotel where Arthur would attempt to wait out the night in silence…until his phone rang, flashing the word: _Ariadne _across the screen.

By that time he couldn't answer fast enough.

"Hello, Arthur."

**~So sorry for the long wait! And the cliffhanger ;) I'm writing around 3 or 4 stories currently and I feel swamped :/ If you would be interested in any of my other stories, mention that you are in a review and I will reply with info. on them. I love reviews! If I get 2 reviews, I'll start hitting up the next chapter, which will be very interesting and much longer than this one. So, please, for_ Rappler_'s sake, review, review, review! Thank you all. -MsArtremis~**


	21. Part 18: Two's a Pair Three's a Crowd

**Part 18: Two's a Pair; Three's a Crowd**

"_Hello, Arthur."_

Arthur couldn't help the painful jolt his heart gave at the words. It wasn't Ariadne on the other end-it was a man.

"Who's this?" He was being rather calm despite the fact his heart wasn't functioning properly…

"No beating around the bush, hm?"

Arthur's body, without consent, slid into panic mode. His mind wound up like a string, twirling and twirling into an ever endless web of facts and details…_there were four exits to this hotel room, he could be at the airport in 20, he had a gun stashed right in his bedside table…_

He got to his feet, trying to distract the speaker as he desperately attempted to identify him.

"I don't get strange calls often."

"Oh, Arthur don't play me for a fool. I know you, you know me…all is well in the world."

Arthur glanced around the hotel room, his gaze raking the room-with a burst of intuition he recalled that the man was calling from Ariadne's phone; that detail wasn't helpful.

"Why are you calling me from Ariadne's phone?" he hissed, pausing in his overlook of the room to grip the phone in his hand. The weak plastic groaned beneath his knuckles and there was clearly a raspy laugh from over the line.

"Let's just say…I know a few people, Arthur. And we know everything. Including about your-" suddenly Arthur was aware of the noises from the other side of the phone-there was a scraping sound, like a chair being dragged, and a loud female whimper, "girlfriend _here_. Well, technically she's the dream teams' whore-Cobb bangs her, you bang her…and around and around we go…"

The words set Arthur into a rage-his vision temporarily welled up with the color crimson and he had bite his tongue viciously to see well enough again. He had to play this cool, he had to keep his head…

"Give. Her. Back."

"Nah, ah, ah-it isn't that easy-"

"Give her to me, now, or I swear-"Arthur frankly had no idea where he was going with this, but to the man on the other line, it seemed perfectly clear.

"You'll what, Arthur?"

Silence-Arthur couldn't think of anything else to say-his mind was wasted, tumbling endlessly with details that didn't damn well help anything-hopelessly he yanked on the tie at his throat, the knot slipping lose so that the whole thing came undone. The man laughed before whispering:

"We just want to see you, Arthur. That's all we want…"

Suddenly the pieces came together-it wasn't a clear picture and by all means, Arthur couldn't guarantee that it was 100 percent correct which is how he usually liked his answers, but he was desperate.

"Andres Hernandez."

"Very good, Arthur. Head West until you're outside Havanna-directly off the highway is a warehouse. Abandoned, just as you dream team like them…bring a PASIV. Make it before midnight-"

Arthur was gobbling the information down, swallowing it like a drug, when he heard a voice in the background. _"Arthur-don't come he's-"_ There was a sharp, resounding slap-then there was quiet. "You'll bring everything with you. Ms. Bishop can assist you if you get lost along the way." Another raspy laugh; it was a miracle the phone wasn't halfway across the room and in pieces by now; for Arthur was at a loss. Thoughts were running through his mind, one after another, things he'd never even heard cross his mind.

_This can't be happening. No. Don't hang up, don't hang up, Ariadne hold on, I'll be there Ms. Ariadne, just wait…_

"I trust we're understood then."

_No- _In a flash of movement Arthur was dashing out the hotel room, counting room numbers in his head. Cobb was in 615, two floors above-Ariadne had 413…they were supposed to be on different floors so that they didn't look as if they were associated. The whole idea seemed stupid now; who cared if they were criminals? They would escape, as they always did-but Ariadne wasn't them. She was better than their whole lot, better than all of them combined-Cobb should have never drug her in. Arthur himself should have refused to teach her anything, paradoxes be damned…

"Goodbye, Arthur." There was a click as Arthur crossed into the elevator-he swore silently as the doors slid shut and he slipped his phone into his pocket.

_A few minutes later…_

Cobb had happened to pass by a mirror in his hotel room. Not that he was a vain man, but the swelling of his jaw was rather attention grabbing and he couldn't seem to help but stare. Had that really happened? He could barely recall, everything was blurred in his mind now…he'd been drunk, that was for sure. Ariadne, getting that close to him, was a foolish and dangerous move…not that he was anywhere near to blaming her for the incident. God, it'd been stupid-more than that it'd been wrong. He felt sick to his stomach at the memory of her lips against his…how soft they'd been, how yielding…just for one blinding, earth shattering moment.

Disgusted with himself he combed back his hair with a firm hand, bending over the sink of his bathroom as if he would actually be sick. _It had felt so right…_but that was what was wrong! During the Inception job he'd felt nothing for her like this…not this absolutely _true_ feeling. As if Ariadne and him were puzzle pieces, meant to fit with the other…_Mal. _

A picture of his deceased wife flew before his eyes- temporarily yielding his sanity to the image he ventured out on a limb, peering at the picture closely. Her hair was down, waving in the wind, her eyes so blue they were almost violet…tears welled up in her eyes. _Dom. _She whispered-Cobb's stomach actually jumped at the word and he leaned farther over the sink, ready to be sick. How could he do that to her? How could he do this to…anyone? To Arthur, his co-worker…his friend? Were they even friends any longer? He hadn't estimated this, he couldn't have predicted this…

What happened next was a blur as much as the kiss in Ariadne's apartment had been-one moment he was bent over the sink, sweating and near puking with guilt, when there was a pounding on his hotel room door. The guilt pushed him into a run, his paranoia climbing-who was it? What had happened-for once, his paranoia proved true. The door swung open to a pale, straight-faced Arthur.

"Andres has her."

Cobb's mouth tightened-he was quite a sight with his rumpled hair and clothing, but Arthur could have been a mirror image as far as destruction wise-both of them looked like they'd been through hell. Without another word Cobb was turning on his heel, grabbing his unpacked suitcase from the floor, heading out the door, heading down the hallway to retrieve Yusuf, Eames, and Lacey…

"How did this happen?" he demanded, striding into the elevator; Arthur joined him at his side, purposeful as well. They were a force to be reckoned with-an undeniable team no matter which way you looked at it.

"I'll tell you on the way there." Arthur informed him, dark eyes intent-

The elevator doors slid shut-and the hunt began.

**~How's that? Omigawwwddd this was so much fun to do. Reviews please, reviews! I love 'em. If I get 3 reviews I'll write up the next chapter in a flash, swearsies. Hope you liked it-MsArtemis~**


	22. Part 19: Regalia

**Part 19: Regalia**

_regalia-__is Latin for the privileges and the__ characteristic__ of a __Sovereign__._

The ride to the Armistice Corps. Warehouse has been nothing short of God-awful.

The whole trip had been done in back-stabbing silence; a period of quiet that bit all of them repeatedly in the ass, as if saying _'We should have suspected this.' _

At least, that is how Eames felt about it.

Eames stepped out of the rented van, planning to slam the door behind him when he heard a delicate clearing of the throat-it was a mere, slithering whisper-but he heard it.

His muscles rolled unconsciously, his shoulders stiffening- turning around he gracefully offered a hand to the bewitching Lacey Bishop-the traitor.

She was victorious in a crimson silk dress with a V-neck that pressed her gigantic chest to the forefront; the material sashayed with her hips as she elegantly slipped out of the van and touched down on the gravel that was Armistice Corps. Parking. Raising her spin-drift colored eyes to Eames', she radiated power and majesty-for she thought she had won.

And, really-what a tosser he had been to be drawn in by her-to be her friend-when she had, almost in fact, won.

It was enough to make him furious-good thing he had a low temper and an agile sense of humor, though he could hardly find anything funny about this now.

She rested her hand on his palm, as if they were entering a ballroom of some sort, like this was all a game-she looked away, her ginger hair trailing the movement across her bared back, for the victory dress, of course, was backless. Tottering on ivory heels she slowly walked forward, her palm in his, as if they were still jolly good friends and he was expected to follow like a lapdog.

"Is this the right place?" Cobb called-Eames glanced up to see the Extractor pacing in front of the warehouse' large tin door, his shoes gleaming in the starlight as he walked.

It had to be at least one in the morning, Eame' supposed-but the stars created a deathly pallor about the warehouse that he couldn't deny. The warehouse was two stories of solid, windowless concrete-it was painted in off-white, almost the same shade as beach sand. The door was large-at least 8 feet of dull tin that glittered among their empty, deserted desert surroundings. They were literally in some flat out mesa in Havanna, several miles away from the outskirts of the city-if they needed help, it would be hard to come by some. It would be even more difficult to explain their whereabouts without being packed off to some asylum.

Lacey turned her head halfway toward him, raising her long-lashed eyes to his in mock sincerity. She was nothing but a liar-and how Cobb had seen this, before Arthur, before Eames-it was like salt poured in an open wound.

"Oh, Eames-stop with that face." Lacey pouted, her succulent lips turning down.

Eames held her gaze, replying with: "So, this is where you decided to surrender Ariadne, eh? To that smoking pimple-faced cad?" His tone was conversational, as if they were talking about the weather.

She lowered her lids at him in a languorous manner before she turned away, pulling him to the door as if they were about to walk up to the king and queens throne…

Slowly, Eames and Lacey made the procession to the entryway-they passed Arthur, whose gun was raised at the place-his eyes flashed to Lacey and Eames, before they refocused on the door, his lips in a tight line. Yusuf lowered his small pistol at the sight of them-as she whispered: "You didn't think I was so boring as to actually go along on this insane mission, did you, Eames?"

Her voice could have been a lily petal wafting down and landing on a pool's surface-absolutely, delicately soundless. He restrained the urge to push her aside and scream at Arthur to run to the door and for God's sake, open it and get their Architect, but there was little time for dramatics.

Her heels smashed down on pebbles-his shoes were turning a lighter shade due to sand-and dust flew in their wake, like a fancy dresses' train…

Nearest to the door was Cobb-as they approached he pulled aside, assessing Eames and Lacey with tense teal eyes and keeping his gaze there.

"She better be here, Lace." Eames replied, locking his eyes on the tin growing larger and larger within his vision.

Finally, they were there-unfortunately, the queen was not done. They came to a halt and she dropped his hand-with a flourish she turned to face him, forced to looking up at him, as even in heels, she was squat. Her cat eyes sparkled like rare gems, her delicate eyebrows arching as she raised her voice.

"Or what, Eames? You wouldn't hurt your best friend?"

He held her gaze-his multicolored shirt gleamed in the shadows of the night, for it was silk, just as Lacey's dress was. "I don't like to get messy-but I would hurt you, Lace, if necessary."

He searched her face for a reaction but her smug grin stayed put-for she seemed to have expected such a comment. "It's Arthur, I'd be worried about, luve." He added.

Even in the bad lighting, he could see the blood drain out of her heart-shaped face and his features split into a soft grin at the sign.

Her lips moved numbly, her turquoise eyes locked with his: "He means nothing to me."

"I was your friend, love-" His velvet voice replied, his face weary from lack of humor, "And even though I don't understand it-" He joked temporarily, sarcasm palpable, "Arthur has an effect on women." He paused, drinking in the sight of her shocked and disgusted features before ending breezily with: "And you are a woman."

For a few sustained seconds, the air was deathly still-and then she laughed, throwing her sunset curls back in fake pleasure. It was the kind of laugh that makes small creatures freeze in their tracks-a nervous, insane cackle that only further proved how far gone she was. The laughing came halted as almost as soon as it had begun-she met Eame' eyes with glacial features, her dress the only color to be seen on her. "Don't be silly, Eames." She hissed-and then she reached over, holding his eyes, and pressed an invisible button the wall nearest to the door.

Eames eyes followed the movement but he stayed frozen, expecting the worst-but the only occurrence was that there was a series or rattling noises-after another long moment there was a hiss and a pop-and with a flourish, the door swung open. Eames leaned forward, visibly eager to see what was inside before he remembered himself. Leaning back he met Lacey's eyes once more-her face was enlarged with a monstrous, pompous smile.

"Looks clear…?" Eames' called, straightening up in his tight tan slacks-and then Arthur was beside him, eyes deadly intent on his ex-girlfriend.

"No tricks, Lacey." He called, arms stiff at his sides, handgun in hand.

"I wouldn't dream of it." She cooed, her curls fluttering in the night air-the pun fell onto dense silence.

With nothing more to say, Cobb, without a sound, took the lead, the rest of the team falling in behind-Lacey peered over her shoulder once before making up the caboose. She came inside before she reached over, pressing the hidden button for the second time-the series of noises commenced, and then it slid shut, throwing the whole group into pure and utter darkness.

* * *

On the inside, the place appeared to once have been a storage warehouse.

There were parking spots for trucks and the occasional wooden box was found lining the sides of the long room. There were no doors to other places that Eames could see-just one floor, endlessly going on, the ceiling almost just as barren save for what appeared to be several bulbous, out of commission lights. That being as it was, it was not hard to spot Andres.

In the center of the huge complex lay what appeared to be a curved, half-moon table-it was made up of several oak desks, melded together to make the shape-leather rolling chairs were pulled up to each desk, and various office supplies resided in a single cup for every single desk. Andres was standing below one of the lights, the only one lit, his face pained despite the arrival of his black-mail-ee's.

Each man lowered their guns upon arrival-for a minute Cobb paused, bringing the whole line to a halt-and then he began to move forward, his footsteps sure and reluctant. As before, the team fell in behind him as he allowed his voice to project over to Andres.

"Alright, Andres-we're here. What do you want from us?"

At about three yards away, Cobb faced the man-for a moment Eames compared them. Andres was in an ill-fitting black T-shirt that tightened over his semi-muscular form, his washed out jeans and muddied boots better for a cowboy than a CEO. His rheumy eyes were engulfed by his black irises-a few inches above his eyes lay his obsidian, thin curls, a few traces of hairspray to be found among the black thicket. Cobb stood across from him, his lion's mane smoothed back by gel, his aqua eyes furious as he stared their mark in a burgundy button-up under a tan leather jacket and olive green slacks, black weapon pointed at the floor.

For a moment, Andres went to the effort to appear as if he was listening to Cobb-and then he peered around the team. His cracked lips pulled away from his yellowed teeth as he opened his arms and jovially called: "Lacey-Baby!" Lacey rushed forward, her heels clacking across the open space as she threw open her thin, pale arms, the light catching on her vermillion nail paint.

Stepping in between Cobb and Andres, she embraced the man, holding him to her as she exclaimed: "Andres! Too longggg."

"Good job my pretty-" He began saying as he pulled away, his grin wide, his hands lingering on her wrists-Eames watched the greeting, not able to believe it. That was how Lacey greeted her friends-her friends…Lacey would never sink that low. Irritated Eames didn't move, saying:

"Would anyone care to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"

There was a long, awkward pause that Eames had not expected-and then Lacey smoothly turned on her heel to look at him.

"Sure, Eames." Her lips parted in a gleaming smile, her turquoise eyes meeting his from across the room-and then Andres made a sweeping motion with his arm.

"Why don't you all have a seat? Then we can really get started."

**-Sorry, readers! I am writing 3 stories, one of them my own original-and I find it harder to update lately. This was cut short so I could deliver it to you sooner-once again, I am so sorry for the lack of update. I hope you enjoyed what pathetic little I have here! I intend to finish **_**Rappeler**_**; and I certainly will :) Love all of my readers3-MsArtemis-**


	23. Part 20: SOS

**~Sorry for the LONGGGGG wait, but I did it thanks to my annoying ass of a brother who just wouldn't shut up until I finished it cx Guess you should thank him? Love you all!-MsArtemis p.s. REVIEW PUHLLLLEASEE :)~**

* * *

Ariadne never thought the taste of blood could _be loved_.

The warm fluid weighed down her tongue, the iron stinging her taste buds as well as illustrate her sore, broken lip and, surely, cracked jaw. She attempted to move the bone; she heard a snap, but felt nothing amongst her dull facial muscles.

At the noise, one of her two captors, a tall, broad African American man with dreads and slim, black sunglasses and in a 3 piece striped suit, tilted his head, his shaven jaw glistening in the overhead fluorescent lights. She offered him a cool stare, breathing in through her nose in order to calm the fury piling up inside of her chest.

_Act like Arthur, Act like Arthur…_

Thick and hot, excess blood rushed over her tongue, and she choked slightly; it was her body's natural reaction to what she could only assume was a broken tooth. Swallowing the concoction, it slid mercilessly down her throat and caused her stomach to roll, but she ignored both side effects.

She loved the taste because it meant she was _alive_. Despite the hours they had spent questioning the Complete Disintegration job, she had bit her tongue and tasted the bittersweet taste of bane, remaining quiet. Their punches and gotten nowhere, and neither had their knives. They were poor torturers; Ariadne could tell form the multiple crime shows she had watched in her high school years. They had not had a very good teacher, which was obvious by their fumbling fingers and curse words.

Oh, and there was the good chance she was in some form of shock. She couldn't tell, though, and that made things more difficult.

As if the thought had offset some chain reaction, Ariadne's body betrayed her. Blood slipped past her lips, dripping down her chin and landing on her pale, upturned arms.

The excess of liquid fleshed with the other crimson droplets that leaked from the multiple slash marks on her pale arms, all of them pooling together in order to slide down and unto the concrete floor that lay below her.

Bound in a rickety, wooden chair with a curved back, rope demanded her wrists be pinched to its solid oak arms, upturned so that the men could reach the insides of her wrist and elbow, the places for the first, painful slices.

That is what she assumed at least, from the things they had discussed; the two of them had whispered about what was best in order to get the information from her while she was coming back conscious several hours ago.

She had heard them, muttering about how to get her to speak, when her vision reluctantly revived itself, her heartbeat rang throughout her skull and the memory of her arrival played out in her head.

_She had gone to her the hotel room, phone in hand. The first thing she had done was drop her suitcase on the bed with a sigh, brushing creamy brown waves behind her ear as she collapsed on the mattress, beside her bag. Flipping unto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, arms flat out on the crinoline sheets as she thought._

_She needed to apologize to Arthur this second, to tell him what had happened was…was what? Nothing? It hadn't been._

_She and Cobb were attracted to each other, she could not deny._

_The way his soul lay in pieces, the sapphire glances he shot her way, the crease of his golden brow-it was all so familiar and **damn comforting** it was not hard to get a bit tipsy and be carried away by passion._

_Or lack thereof. She had been hurting and drunk; of course, she would have kissed Cobb._

_What did Arthur truly expect her to do? Run to him, ignoring the fact Lacey was leaning over, whispering in his ear…_

_He was cold, silent, and unknown. He was like nothing she had ever seen before, and her chest ached at the thought of him never speaking to her again. They both enjoyed paradoxes, and building things, and figuring out the puzzles and pieces to a dream; would it really be so easy for him to walk away from her?_

_He had not spoken to her at all on the plane ride. That indicated to her, that, to him, it was easy to leave her in the dust while he carried on with his redhead bombshell of an ex-girlfriend. _

_If that was true, Ariadne was not sure she knew him at all. _

_Suddenly, there was a knock on her white hotel door. Sitting up quickly, Ariadne brushed off her baggy, off the shoulder golden wool sweater and denim jeans before crossing over to the door and pulling it open without a second thought. _

_She had been so distracted by her thoughts; she had not expected the cloth that flew at her face, and the slim, pale hand that cradled the back of her head as she was lowered to the ground._

_Inhaling a sickly sweet scent that made her stomach churn, Ariadne's vision began to darken around the edges, but not before she caught sight of her attacker._

_Orange waves luminous, pale heart shaped face glowing, Lacey's large mouth popped open in fake horror. Her teal eyes twinkled as she whispered,_

_"Oh, no, what are we going to do with you, Ms. Ariadne…" _

_Before she could flip unto her stomach and retch up her in-flight meal, Ariadne tumbled into darkness. _

Recalling the scene made her wrist ache for somacin…in a dream she'd be the queen, the ultimate decision maker. She would not be in this situation if she was dreaming, but then again, she had not had time to check. The gold Bishop was weighing down her pocket begged to be whipped out and weighted.

Giving a quiet inhale, Ariadne cleared her mind, praying for sanity, at least, in this moment. She needed to focus. As soon as her eyelids snapped up, her caramel eyes glowed; she was determined. Glancing around her surroundings, she made notes, as if she was looking over a project for the first time and she was pointing out the architectural features for future reference.

The room was wide and metallic, wooden crates stacked all around her chair in a semi-circle. To her left, the boxes made room for a thick, metal door that had no window and only one, long, downward handle to pull on. Studying the rectangle, she wondered what the door hid away.

Explosives, maybe, or more people like her, or even people that _had been_ like her. Swallowing, Ariadne turned away from the large door in order to take in the three guards that blockaded the only entrance and exit she knew.

The door they guarded was a slim, wooden rectangle. It had clear nail and tape marks on its surface, as if there had once been posters there, but there was no longer. A tiny window, yellow with age, lay near the top, metal crisscrosses marring its surface.

The men that stood in front of the door were more interesting than the exit.

One was the African-American who had eyed her earlier; he remained muscular and clean-shaven, the twin iron beads in his dreads clicking with his every movement. He had a black handgun at his side, directed at his foot now; what if the Safety was off?

The man at his right was a skinny blonde with mandarin colored skin from too much sun. His hair was swept up and over his forehead, a flaxen, greasy mess Ariadne didn't overanalyze. Patches of hair ran down his triangular jaw, scars slicing through the facial hair every few centimeters. The scars tinted his cheeks grey but then were enveloped by the shadows of the square sunglasses he wore. In Capri's and a forest-green V-neck, he shifted on his feet uneasily, clearly unused to not wielding the shotgun that lay in his arms.

They were polar opposites, clearly; the black man never moved an inch, his gaze fixated on some point in the distance as his friend jerked at every sound.

Suddenly, there was a noise, a voice that startled the blonde man to jumping and caused Ariadne's mouth to drop open, _"Would anyone care to tell me what the hell is bloody going on?"_

_ Eames_, Ariadne's mind screamed, and her heart leapt in her chest.

"Shit." The blonde man's head whipped around, and his sunglasses tipped forward as he looked down on Ariadne, who sat several yards away from him. "We need to get rid of her. They can't find her, you know she's leverage. The boss said."

Ariadne's heart fell as quickly as it had risen. _Leverage_, that's what she was. The word sent her veins to overdrive, and they quickly zapped the strength from her bones.

The African American man nodded, and the blonde man, in a frenzy at his idea being accepted, did a little hop as he hissed, "Where are we gonna put her, Dyl?"

Dyl? Ariadne could only assume that was short for Dylan as the African American man's head gave a slow rotation so as to face the blonde. "The fridge, of course. No use keeping her in plain sight, J. There's only so many rooms in here-we'll just have to put her there."

_The fridge? _Ariadne hardly noticed when her legs began lashing out, causing her chair to topple over on its side. She didn't notice the jar of pain it brought her, or the way crimson drops flew out and across the concrete at her yelp of pain.

She only had one thing in her mind, on repeat. _What would Arthur do, what would Arthur do… _

Although Dyl held her upper arms in his fists, as his friend untied her wrists, and she was pulled straight up into the air, Arthur's velvet voice slid into her ears, taking control.

_If you must make a kill shot, the best way is to aim for the heart. Hold your gun high- _She could practically feel his hands on hers, their fingers interlacing as he adjusted her grip on the pistol's handle. _Aim for the right. Two ribs down from the top of the ribcage, the heart is protected. If you shoot there, the impact will smash the ribs to pieces and they will puncture the victim's lung before the bullet even gets there. It is imperative you know this._

One tiny fist broke loose; she made sure to keep the thumb on the outside as she planted the face of her knuckles right into the second rib on Dyl's right side.

Shock infiltrated her defenses as she realized what she had done; she'd punched a man. She actually had.

Dyl winced once before releasing her right arm in order to bring his palm down and across her cheek; she gasped as blood spattered into the tangled waves of her hair, as she bent over and dealt with the sting, the strength flowing out of her body in an instant. Her shock at getting the upper hand evaporated, leaving her useless as Jay, the blonde, opened the thick metal door, and without delay, Dyl threw her inside.

The impact that her body took in from landing on the metal floor shuddered through her bones; she did not have time to register the door closing before she was left in utter darkness.

For a few moments, she lay on her side, allowing the pain to overwhelm her-white hot, burning in so many places, each breath was a nightmare- before she pressed it back down, deep inside herself, and sat up.

Letting out a breath she had not known she had been holding, a puff let loose, its misty fingers trailing in the air as tears sprang to her eyes.

Glancing around, she caught sight of the many boxes stacked against the frosted sides labeled TOXIC. They surrounded her, leaving her on a floor covered in at least two inches of ice.

Sighing, she scooted over an inch or so until her back pressed against a wooden crate, and then she pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her thin arms around them. Holding herself as tight as she could, she buried her head in her lap, attempting to rid of the dizziness that rose up within her head, daring to strike down.

The tears in her eyes burned, but she was grateful to them; it meant she was alive.

Her mind struggled for a plan as her teeth chattered, but the cold was slowly taking away everything she knew; her blood continued to slip down out of her face, the knots of her hair to drip to the floor, staining the impeccable clear shade forever pink…

* * *

Cobb did not trust them. They had taken Ariadne, and so far, he could not spot her.

There was no indicator of another room anywhere; it was apparent they were lying.

"Now, Lacey tells me you're working for me. On a 'dream job'."

Cobb snapped back to attention, his eyes adjusting to the scene before him in a millisecond.

He sat in a plush roller chair that had its own oak desk; the glimmer of the object joined the sixteen or so others that made a square in the middle of the warehouse, each desk at the least, a foot away from the other.

He had allowed his hand to drop to his lap, but that did not mean a damn thing, for a trusty handgun rested comfortably in his right palm. At his left was Arthur, to the left of Arthur was Eames and to the right of Cobb, a quietly panicking Yusuf. Across the square, Andres lounged, Lacey's crossed pale legs near to his. She leant back in her seat, her pose regal despite the heavy amount of deviousness that plagued her round face. Cobb could not decipher if she was attempting not to laugh or was seriously plotting as her hand delicately covered her mouth, the fingers edging around the corners, the palm floating above it.

Arthur's voice cut to the chase. "Yes, that is what she informed me-"

Arthur's speech was ruined by Lacey's high, svelte tone. "Of course you would think that, Arthur, the message having come from my email. Unfortunately, it wasn't me. I was hacked."

Cobb threw a sharp glance at his right hand man, who leant forward on his desk, his thin face fallen and locked in a state of blank simplicity. Arthur, witty Arthur, who had trained in the arts of deception, could not be taken down by a false email. Cobb decided to speak on the matter.

"Is that true? Could it have been a fake?" he demanded, his eyes a dangerous shade of narrowed turquoise as his cheekbones strengthened in their resolve.

Before Arthur could respond, Lacey let out a dainty little chuckle, and Cobb's head whipped to her direction. "Of course it could, Cobb, don't be foolish. There are people smarter than your dream team out there, let me tell you that."

"So you know who did it?" Yusuf inquired, adjusting the thick, square glasses he had chosen to wear instead of contacts.

Lacey eyed him with distaste before managing, "No, but you have many enemies, figure that out."

"I'm sorry-" Eames began, leaning forward in his seat, his eyebrows pulling in sarcastically on his forehead as his body eased forward, "but can we get back to the point? Whoever hacked it doesn't matter now, what matters is that you have our Architect and I, for one, would like to know why."

"Of course," Andres murmured, reaching into his jeans pocket in order to drag out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper. "A few months ago I began receiving anonymous emails. No matter what decoder I hired, they never could figure out who sent them. I will read the email to you now, exactly as it arrived to me on its multiple occasions. The message was always the same:

_Dear Mr. Hernandez, _

_I have observed you from afar and have discovered that we are alike, you and I. We each have an unhealthy addiction that is dangerous to our sanity. We each have considerable power and wealth at our disposal and bitter women who don't love us as they should_."

Cobb's eyes shot to Arthur's; they made eye contact in the same moment, and Cobb saw Arthur's caution reflected back at him.

"_We also have ambitions; yours, to become ruler of the Underground world of Weaponary, mine, to possess what I long for. _

_On a separate note, I heard a quaint little story back in '89 in the newspaper, about two murders in a Havana gas station. They never found the culprit, but I think you know how this ends._"

Andres' voice darkened audibly, tinting the story with shadows.

"_I will tell my version of that little '89 column to famous sources located throughout the globe. It will only take the snap of my finger, and everyone will know about that 10-year-old scrap. Follow the directions, Mr. Hernandez, or I will end you and your company. I believe you will assist me and do as I say. _

_Sincerely, _

_Acolad." _

"Acolad?" Cobb echoed unconsciously, before adding, "That isn't a name you hear every day."

The crinkling of paper filled the establishment as the paper returned to its pocket and Arthur snapped, "What were the directions? Was it a specific list? Or hints?"

Andres gave Arthur an even stare before replying with, "Direct orders to find a woman. He gave us an address; said she was meddling in his affairs and was into dream work. It took us awhile to figure out how to get in, but eventually some of my men had to jump in from the terrace in the building across…"

The words had Cobb's blood heating up, roaring in his ears; his hands turned into fists as the assembled came to the conclusion.

"You were told to kill Ariadne." Cobb supplied.

Andres nodded, quipping, "My men thought the shot killed her. I have some newbie's on her case, you see. My best are filling out the rest of his demands."

Suppressing the urge to yell, Cobb instead brought up his hand, placing the butt on the table so as to better aim at short, little, Andres' head.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you, right now." His voice was even, the words as smooth as crystal. No one appeared surprised by the outrage, and in the back of his mind, Cobb even heard the safety on Arthur's gun click off.

Andres slowly raised his hands, snapping his fingers as soon as they were in the air. Men came out of the shadows, all in black suits and with dark ski masks. They ranged from burly to lean, but every one of them stayed quiet as Cobb quietly analyzed the situation.

"You don't want to fight me, Mr. Cobb."

Cobb looked Andres up and down as the short man dropped his arms, a grim expression on his weary face. "You will do as I say, when I say it. I am not going to lose my life to this person, I hope you understand."

There was a pause before Andres sighed, finishing with, "The first demand was to get rid of the girl. Now let's just sit down and discuss the others in a _safe_ environment, yeah? "

Cobb released the gun on the table, withdrawing his hand even as his blood slowed down its pace to sludge.

They had no choice; at least, for now.


End file.
